Translator: Cinder Translations
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The soldiers on the outer layer of the formation desperately used their bayonets to block the orc warriors' battle axes, providing cover for those in the inner layers. The soldiers in the center took turns loading muskets, aiming, and pulling the trigger, with each shot creating a burst of blood at the point of impact.
The soldiers in the innermost circle were responsible for loading the ammunition to ensure continuous firepower.
The soldiers' strict training paid off. At such a close range, nearly every shot hit its mark, and even the larger warhorses were excellent targets.
The orc cavalry maneuvered through the gaps in the formation, but they quickly realized that no matter which direction they tried to attack from, human soldiers armed with the terrifying firearms were waiting to shoot them down. Those trapped between two formations found themselves caught in crossfire from both sides.
The orcs utilized their horsemanship to the fullest—attacking, provoking, shooting arrows, and trying to break through a corner of the formation. However, the human soldiers stood their ground, unwavering. Any soldier who fell or was injured was immediately replaced by someone from behind.
The orcs' strategy of retreating after a hit also failed, as none of the human soldiers abandoned their positions. In fact, they didn't need to, as the orcs soon realized that the human firearms had a much longer range than their short bows, and their warhorses couldn't outrun the deadly projectiles.
Armor might protect against arrows, but it was useless against the nearly invisible, fast-moving projectiles of the muskets.
The explosions of gunfire were constant as the muskets fired relentlessly, filling the battlefield with dense smoke. Orc cavalry in the smoke could no longer see their comrades and were instead met with a barrage of deadly bullets.
The unfamiliarity of the battlefield made the orcs wonder if the humans were using dark magic.
The fear of the orc cavalry was not only because of their overwhelming charge but also because the foot soldiers lacked any means to counter them. However, when you are equipped with a "metal storm" or driving a tank, even the largest cavalry seems like mere meat.
Although the soldiers of Alden only had flintlock muskets, constant iterations and improvements had made them far more advanced than the primitive firearms they once were. Their range and power now far surpassed the orc cavalry's short bows. The orcs' favored tactic of attacking and retreating didn't work—horses couldn't outrun bullets, and pulling a trigger was far simpler than turning a horse around.
The soldiers of Alden soon regained their composure, shaking off the initial panic and responding calmly to the enemy's attacks.
They absorbed the majority of the orc cavalry's charge.
On the flanks, allied soldiers, peering through the smoke, saw the Alden soldiers being "swallowed" by the orc cavalry. Initially terrified, they feared that if the central Alden soldiers fell, the entire army would be split in two, unable to support each other.
Officers hesitated, wondering whether they should order the soldiers to move toward the center to assist the Alden soldiers—some of the braver ones had already begun to act.
Schroder quickly noticed their movement and immediately sent someone on horseback to order them to hold their positions.
They had no time to focus on the Alden soldiers anymore, as the orc cavalry had begun attacking them. As planned, the allied soldiers had also formed hollow square formations, with archers protected in the center and their pikes pointing outward. In fact, their pikes were even more intimidating than the bayonets carried by the Alden soldiers.
The intense battle raged on for some time. The allied soldiers were delighted to discover that the Alden forces in the center had held their ground, drawing in the orc cavalry's main force like a magnet.
Although the poor visibility from the smoke made it difficult to see, the sound of muskets firing was unmistakable. The constant crackling, like beans popping, never ceased for a quarter of an hour. Meanwhile, orc cavalry, wounded and retreating from the smoke, were a sign of hope.
This greatly encouraged the soldiers, and they began to feel that the battle might be winnable.
The orc cavalry that had dared to charge into the gaps between the formations were the most unfortunate, as they were hit by deadly crossfire from both sides, causing heavy casualties and many falling from their horses.
The smoke obscured much of the battlefield, and many orcs lost their way. A scattering of orc cavalry even charged toward where Paul and the others were, but they were quickly overpowered and either killed or captured by the guards.
"Bring him here," Paul ordered his guards.
A freshly captured orc prisoner was brought before him.
Paul watched with interest. This was the first time he had seen an orc in person, the second non-human race he had encountered—earlier, he had met a dwarf, a guy obsessed with regaining his clan's leadership. Paul wondered how the dwarf's quest for revenge was going.
The orc in front of him was a tall, muscular figure, with a broad back like a panel. Through the gaps in his armor, Paul could see thick hair.
The orc tried to struggle, but it was quickly met with a beating. Despite the orc's strength, the Alden soldiers guarding Paul were all handpicked, towering figures, and with his hands bound, the orc stood no chance.
A sharp kick sent him kneeling to the ground, and two guards pressed down on his back, preventing him from standing again.
"You humans... you... you..." The orc, his face bruised and bleeding, muttered stubbornly. "You used dark witchcraft... despicable!"
Paul let out a small laugh. "Uninvited, rude guests have no right to speak like that!"
His tone then turned cold. "Tell me, how many orcs have entered the territory of Aldor? How many came from the northwest?"
The orc, his nose bleeding, his face covered in blood-soaked fur, remained defiant.
"You won't get a word out of me, human. The brave Aguzar will never betray his own kind."
Paul was about to order his men to beat the orc harder when a figure rushed up to him.
It was Derson, the mage who had sworn allegiance to him not long ago. He had insisted on accompanying them before they set out.
"Lord Grayman! Please leave these long-haired bastards to me! I'll make them confess every word they know—even things they haven't thought about since they were in the womb."
"You?" Paul glanced at the eager expression on Derson's face. This man seemed desperate to prove himself.
"Let him try," suggested Marianna to her son. "Derson is a mage who specializes in mental manipulation."
Ah, that's right. Paul's mother had reminded him—Derson would be perfect for interrogating these prisoners.
"Alright, you take over the interrogation," Paul said.
Derson's face lit up with joy. "I will not disappoint you, Lord Grayman."
At that moment, the battlefield situation shifted again.
The orc cavalry on both the left and right wings charged forward, aiming to reinforce the center that had become mired in a standoff. The Alden cavalry on both wings, however, were ready to meet them head-on, not allowing them to succeed.
(End of the Chapter)
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