CH247 Chaotic Battlefield

***

Some time earlier...

City of Werth, Kellerman Territory.

The air outside Werth was heavy with turmoil after the earlier betrayals on both sides. Both Wildkin and humans were brimming with eagerness—the war was about to erupt.

At the first light of dawn, both armies made their move.

Exercitus Alexii had been preparing to lay siege when the gates of Werth swung open. From within, the Wildkin poured out like an unending tide.

The Wildkin—especially the major races of Orcs, Taurus, and Mantisari—were built for raids, not for defending walls. And they weren't about to start now.

Rather than playing to their weakness against a foe they grudgingly admitted was formidable, the Wildkin chieftains petitioned the Orc Chief to meet the humans in the open plains before the city. To attack, and either triumph—or die trying.

The Orc Chief agreed.

The Wildkin outnumbered the Fury soldiers at least two to one. More than that, this was no rabble—it was the cream of the invading forces that had pushed into Imperial lands.

Yet, the Fury elites were not unsettled.

When had they ever fought the Wildkin on equal terms?

Seeing the tide surge from Werth, Exercitus Alexii halted its march. Orders rang out, and the Taskforce Division began forming lines with methodical precision.

The surviving 3,500 soldiers split into seven battalions of roughly five hundred each: one mage, one archer, two cavalry (light and heavy), and three infantry (Shieldbearers, Spearmen, and Armoured).

By contrast, the Wildkin array was little more than a mob. They lined up loosely by race, their only semblance of order being Orc infantry in the centre and Wolf Riders on the flanks.

Horn~~

The Wildkin war horn blared, and what little discipline they did have, evaporated into frenzy. With bloodlust in their eyes, they broke into a mad sprint, each warrior desperate to be the first to clash.

"Steady!"

The human side did not flinch. Shields locked, spears angled, bows drawn—they braced.

"Steady~"

The Shieldbearers dug their feet into the soil, shields angled to deflect the incoming storm.

"Steady..."

Their commander's voice was low, measured, waiting for the exact moment.

"Now!"

Boom!

The first of the Wildkin smashed against hardened, aura-coated shields and were thrown back by the Shieldbearers—only to be skewered by the Spearmen waiting behind.

The Shieldbearers finished off any that still twitched with their short blades.

Then, as though a single body, the unit pushed forward. They stepped atop the fallen Wildkin without hesitation, shields raised to welcome the next wave of attacks.

Rinse and repeat.

Human soldiers cut down the charging Wildkin, then pressed forward step by step, slow and steady, over a growing carpet of corpses.

Whenever a Fury soldier in the frontline fell, another instantly moved up from the back, filling the gap before the Wildkin could even notice. To their enemies, it seemed as though the pressing human wall never faltered, never took damage.

Those in the rear had the simpler but no less important duty of ensuring that no Wildkin twitching on the ground lived long enough to rise again.

More and more Wildkin crashed into the line, their frenzied strength turning the clash into a tug-of-war. Shieldbearers gritted their teeth and shoved back with every ounce of force they had, while Spearmen jabbed into any opening they could find.

The chaos deepened as the tide swelled.

Archers and Mages finally stepped in. Arrows pierced those Wildkin who towered or pushed hardest in the melee, while spells hurled into the backline blasted away slower but far physically-stronger enemies like Trolls before they could reach the frontline battlefield.

The sudden shift forced the Shamans of the Wildkin to enter the fray.

They bellowed guttural chants, coating their warriors in frenzied buffs while unleashing curses and venomous debuff spells upon the Fury soldiers.

The battlefield tilted on a razor's edge, slipping closer and closer into full-blown chaos—the exact condition the Wildkin thrived in.

Yet the Fury soldiers held. Stubborn, blood-soaked, and relentless, they refused to break, grinding the hostiles down inch by inch.

But that balance would not last.

Suddenly, a combined Wildkin force of elites from the three major races stormed onto the battlefield.

Boom!

A three-metre-tall Taurus, its body a mass of bulging muscle, thundered forward with a speed far too swift and agile for its size. It slipped past volleys of arrows and spellfire with uncanny agility, then crashed into the frontline infantry.

Its horns gleamed wickedly as it charged straight like a battering ram through the Shieldbearer wall, ripping it apart like paper, before ploughing into the Spearmen who tried desperately to intercept.

At the same time, a Veteran-ranked Orc Fighter revealed itself. It had hidden amidst its lesser kin until the moment was right, then unleashed its full strength, widening the breach in the shield wall and dragging more Wildkin through the opening.

Above, a trio of Winged Mantisari swooped down. Though the archers and mages fended them off from closing in, their constant harassment disrupted the rhythm of the ranged units, dulling their suppressive fire and allowing even more Wildkin to reach the frontlines.

Chaos erupted as the human formation fractured.

The neat battalions splintered into smaller subunits—companies and platoons—while the armoured infantry spread out to meet the Wildkin pouring through.

Veteran-ranked officers of the Fury Army stepped forward, hunting down enemy elites who tried to slip past the lines, locking them into deadly duels amidst the carnage.

The Wildkin held the advantage in numbers, and in sheer count of high-ranked fighters. Yet the Fury soldiers refused to match them one-on-one. They fought as disciplined units, cutting down even terrifying foes through coordination and sheer cohesion.

The battlefield surged back and forth—chaos and order, collapse and recovery—as the clash raged.

It was like facing an endless tide.

Soon, it became impossible to tell which side had lost more. Bodies piled high, human and Wildkin alike, strewn across the plains like fallen wheat.

And yet, as the minutes stretched into hours, the Wildkin only grew more frenzied. Whether from the Shaman's blood-thirsting blessings or their own unyielding lust for battle, they fought harder the longer the slaughter continued.

Eventually, the greatest monster among them could restrain himself no longer.

Boom!

The Orc Chief made his move.

A single punch, carrying the weight of a mountain, tore through the air and smashed down toward the Fury backline.

"You shouldn't have done that."

A sigh, heavy and powerful, reverberated across the battlefield.

***

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