Anduin Lothar stood on the peak of this isolated island.
Looking at the newly built bunkers on both sides of the mountain path, Andoine was uncertain. He did not know how useful this temporarily built line of defense would be.
"We've prepared a month's worth of rations, more than 150,000 arrows, and a thousand spare sets of armor …" The logistics officer reported to Anduin.
But Anduin was restless because of this.
There was nothing he could do about the lack of logistics. He could only hope that the weather would improve.
"If we can drag it out until midsummer, the road should be much easier …"
However, the scene on the 3rd of April left the entire upper echelons of Stormwind speechless.
The nobles had also sent many people to participate in this battle. Some were brave men like Bolvar Fordragon, some were sent to the frontlines by their families, and some were seeking political capital. In any case, on the two nameless peaks of the Redridge Mountains, there were two dukes, four marquises, and eleven earls of Stormwind. The number of lower and middle nobles was uncountable.
In front of these Stormwind nobles, who had lived in peace for nearly a thousand years, was a terrifying and barbaric army.
At first, the battle cries sounded like distant playfulness in the morning fog. But the moment that green line appeared on the opposite peak, a deafening sound wave and violent drumming came crashing down like a huge wave. The sound wave was so loud that it felt like someone was chopping at the eardrums of every noble present with an axe.
The green flood easily dyed the entire opposite peak. It was countless green giants. They were burly and waved a mess of primitive weapons, but their terrifying numbers easily exceeded the limits of the nobles' psychological endurance.
Were there ten thousand people here? Or was it a hundred thousand?
The green tide dyed several peaks on the opposite side, and the unfolding battle line easily exceeded the entire vision of the nobles. Not to mention three or four peaks, it felt like even if the battle line was stretched ten times longer, it would not be able to accommodate the simultaneous attack of so many orcs.
They pushed and collided with each other, and even punched their compatriots who tried to stop them. But their numbers were so great that it was enough to make anyone with trypophobia go crazy.
The green torrent was so crazy that it seemed like it would swallow everything in its path with its raging momentum.
Lothar gritted his teeth, as if he wanted to record every Orc flag with his eyes. Unfortunately, he could only copy the third flag that looked like scribbles and could only give up.
There were too many flags, and it was too messy. Even if the orcs were holding the same clan's flag, due to the poor craftsmanship, it looked like there were several clan's flags. Only the 'smart orcs' could clearly tell which clan was which.
There was a huge canyon between the V-shaped twin peaks and the opposite mountain. After repeated calculations, Lothar found that it was just within the range of human bows and arrows.
Lothar was confident that he could turn that place into a death trap for his enemies. Now, Lothar's expression changed.
The soldiers in the bunkers on the hillside had indeed shot out a large number of arrows, and the overwhelming arrows had indeed hit the orc vanguard.
But the number of Orcs that fell could be counted on one hand.
Did the arrow miss?
No! He hit the target!
The bullet had hit the target without a doubt.
But what did Lothar and the nobles see through the telescope?
A bunch of crazy Orcs.
They saw with their own eyes that an Orc had at least 20 arrows in his chest, shoulder, and face. However, the green-skinned Orc swung his arm in front of him as if he was shooing away a fly, forcibly sweeping away all the arrows or pulling them out and throwing them on the ground.
His right eye was already blind, his flesh had been flipped open, and the arrowheads had hooked out large chunks of flesh, leaving more than ten huge bloody holes the size of a wrist on his entire upper body.
But the Orc still charged forward crazily. He roared and rushed to a bunker, using his huge hammer that was several times bigger than a human head to smash the outer wall of the bunker made of bricks and stones. He dragged a wailing soldier out of the bunker and tore the soldier in half at the waist in front of the remaining defenders of the bunker.
The soldier did not die on the spot. Amidst the Orc's crazy laughter, the upper body that had lost its lower body crawled on the ground for a few meters before dying.
This scene made Lothar and the nobles tremble.
All the fortifications, like sandcastles on the beach, were all washed away by a huge green wave.
Release the arrows!
The Orcs fought head-on.
Falling rocks …
Lothar saw with his own eyes that a rock the size of a millstone fell, about to smash an Orc who was rushing up the mountain into meat paste. Do you know what happened?
The Orc used his arm that was thicker than a cow's leg to swing his fist and smash the big rock!
The Storm Warrior who threw the stone was stunned. In that split second, the Beastman had already crawled in front of the Storm Warrior. A huge and thick arm stretched out and grabbed the Storm Warrior's hair and head. The Storm Warrior's entire body was pulled out of the wall and thrown down the mountain.
The Orc who was laughing halfway up the mountain chopped the soldier in half with his axe the moment he passed by.
This caused the Orc to laugh even louder.
The Orcs were a bunch of bloodthirsty and warlike lunatics!
Anduin Lothar's face turned green. He knew that anyone could see that the Stormwind army had to retreat. The battle was irreversible.
"Order the entire army to retreat!"
The order to retreat was not wrong. Any rational commander would know that there was no way they could fight in this situation. But how they would retreat was also a problem.
If everyone scattered, the retreat would turn into a rout. Under the relentless pursuit of the energetic Orc army, it would easily turn into a rout. In the end, there would only be less than 10% of the soldiers who would be able to return to Stormwind City.
All the nobles fixed their burning gazes on Lothar's handsome but pained face.
Lothar gritted his teeth and said, "The Gryphon Legion will cover our retreat!"
On a blue flag with golden edges, a golden Gryphon held a sword in each of its hind claws. This was the Gryphon Legion.
Stormwind's First Legion in the eastern part of the Elven Forest.
Its history could be traced back to the descendants of Thoradin The Great — Stormwind's founding emperor had led his people south to the rich Elven Forest.
It had participated in the first Stormwind War. At that time, the Elven Forest had not been as peaceful as it was today. At that time, there had been many trolls in the forest. It was the Gryphon Legion's bravery that had driven the trolls south, past the Twilight Forest, and into the miasma-filled Stranglethorn Vale.
This was a legion that had inherited the iron will of the founding emperor.
But today, at this time and place, Lothar was going to bury them in this hopeless battle to cover their retreat. It wasn't because he wanted to preserve the damned private soldiers of the nobles, but because of the entire army, only the Gryphon Legion could complete the task of covering their retreat.
Any general who knew how to use troops knew that no matter how badly an army was beaten, as long as a tenth of the old soldiers were left, the spirit of the army would be passed down, and their reputation would continue.
But after seeing this scene, Lothar knew that the Gryphon Legion would disappear forever. Its reputation and the history it was so proud of would all disappear in this dull red valley.
Under the siege of tens of thousands of orcs, the human infantry, who were weaker in terms of stamina, speed, and agility, could not escape the pursuit of the orcs.
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