Every battleship roared, their cannons flashing with dazzling yellow light. As the huge solid cannonballs were fired, thick smoke rose into the air. Accompanied by a deafening roar, the barrels of the cannons were pushed back violently.
Black arcs of light traversed hundreds of meters in the air and bombarded the transport ships. The continuous explosions of cannonballs tore through the air, completely drowning out the roaring sea breeze.
Dragging the black arcs of light behind them, the metal balls dancing in the air became unmistakable emissaries of death. Cannonballs were like Grim Reapers who placed human lives on a scale. The difference was that one side was luck, and the other side was death.
Whether it was a huge splash that brushed past one's body, or whether it was a direct hit and one was killed in the sea, this was like a metaphysical game.
In a sense, being killed by a cannonball was also a kind of luck. At least they did not have to endure this endless torture.
The cannonball flew above their heads and fell beside them, creating huge splashes of water.
Missed??
In less than two seconds after the explosion, a new round of horrifying roars was approaching from afar.
Did they pray to their ancestors?
After drinking the blood of unknown origins and turning their skin green, would their ancestors still bless them?
Unknowingly, these seemingly endless cannonballs had become the greatest torture for the Orcs.
If this was the first time they were fighting on the sea, perhaps the Orcs would be dumbfounded and would just paddle the boat forward. But with the first disastrous defeat and the shadow of the landing battle looming over them, the surviving Orcs inevitably began to panic.
As a paddling ship, the most terrifying thing was that the two sides of the ship were not uniform. The direct result of this was the ship spinning around on the sea like a blind fly.
The Orc fleet was in chaos.
It was not that there were no Orc commanders who tried to organize small boats to attack the Alliance's fleet, but after Kurtiras's fleet suffered a huge loss last time, the Orc transport ships were no longer blocked by a single row of careless and weak ships. Instead, they were blocked by two rows of ships.
Not only that, the deranged General Daelin had also changed the structure of half of the fleet.
Originally, for the sake of the cannonball battle between fleets, Kurtiras's fleet had basically distributed the cannons on the left and right sides equally. Now, considering that they would have to take part in the most brutal battle after the artillery bombardment, Dai Lin moved almost all the cannons to the starboard side. The port side relied on the ballast to maintain the balance of the ship.
In other words, as long as the Alliance's fleet could not gain the upper hand and seize the T position, the port side, which only had a few cannons left, would basically be defeated the moment they encountered the enemy.
Daelin was bold but careful. On one hand, he didn't think that the Bloodsail Fleet that had surrendered to the Orcs would have much fighting power. On the other hand, he was confident in his commanding skills.
Now he had made the right bet.
Even an ordinary destroyer could have more than 30 cannons on one side. This kind of firepower was simply crazy.
The spherical cannonball spun in the air, and like the punishment of God, it ruthlessly flew towards the small Orc transport ship that was trying to rely on its agility to execute the Ant Encirclement Tactic.
"Boom!"
Because of the rush, the materials used in the new batch of transport ships were mostly skimped on. Originally, the Beastmen's ships were thick and hard. Now, because of the lack of materials and the excessive pursuit of quantity, even the hardness was gone.
Logically speaking, it was impossible for a seemingly huge transport ship to be blasted from the deck to the bottom of the ship by a cannonball.
But reality was right in front of them. The coarse and thin deck was easily blasted into the sky, mixed with the broken pieces of wood and Orc flesh, splattering in all directions like a storm.
There was no need to rely on the explosion of gunpowder, nor was there any need to use the spiral drilling force created by the rifling. Just the pure and violent kinetic energy alone was enough to send a transport ship that could carry dozens or even hundreds of people to the bottom of the sea.
The scourge of skimping on materials had also spread to the Orcs' giant ironclad transport ships.
Originally, with the thick and heavy armor, the cannonball wouldn't be able to cause any substantial damage even if it didn't ricochet. But after the armor was thinned, the pig iron plates that weren't official armor became the biggest killer.
The more brittle pig iron was instantly shattered into thumb-sized pieces after being hit by the cannonball, and they splattered into the hold of the ship with the impact of the cannonball. The Orc warriors, who were crammed into the hold of the ship like sardines, became the biggest victims.
Under this kind of shrapnel attack that exceeded the limits of their physical endurance, large numbers of Orcs were killed like wheat being harvested. But most of them were heavily injured and unable to continue fighting.
If it was on a land battlefield, the violent and brave Orcs would usually choose to perish together with their enemy. However, this was the sea. Other than their own people, there were only the bowl-sized bullet marks left by the stray bullets in the ship's cabins within a radius of a dozen meters.
Sitting on Daylin's ship, listening to the information sent by the various mages.
Duque's expression was still as calm as still water.
"There's good news and bad news."
Daylin pursed his lips. "A man at sea always starts with the bad news."
"Alright, the bad news is that you have to decide how to distribute the fleet now. If you let more than eight thousand transport ships land on the South Stream coast, Terenas and Zeon will immediately come to kill you. "
"And the good news?"
"At this rate, we have a chance to let more than half of the Orcs sink to the bottom of the sea to feed the fishes."
Daylin whistled. "I'll leave the Second Fleet and Storm Fleet at Southshore for you to deploy. Leave those that pass through the straits, and I'll pull the rest to the other side of the South Stream coast. "
Duque pondered for a moment. Daylin still refused to let go of the Heartsail Pirates, so this was the only way.
"Promise me."
"Don't worry, I'll treat them fairly, even if they're forced to kill my Third Fleet."
Duque stared at Daylin for a moment and finally nodded.
On the battlefield, the opportunity was fleeting.
There was no time to hesitate.
The situation here was also reflected in the command center of Southshore. Lothar gritted his teeth and looked at Laing. "General Laing, can I give you the best defense line in Southshore?"
Laing looked at his childhood friend. Lothar's battle in the past year was still vivid in his mind. Laing patted Lothar's shoulder. "I'm not a child who has been on the battlefield for the first time. If such a good defense can be penetrated, I'd rather die. "
"No, I don't want you to die, I …"
Laing punched Lothar in the chest. "Go, General Lothar. The Alliance needs you."
Without further hesitation, Lothar called out to Turalyon. "Let's go. Our destination is the South Stream coast."
With almost all of his cavalry, Lothar had to reach the Shadowfang Citadel before the Horde landed.
The cruelest battle was about to begin.
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