Stab

There was a gleam in the eyes of everyone in the command center, a hungry, triumphant glint.

They didn't know how many troops the Horde had left. The hundred thousand here, plus those intercepted by Daelin's fleet at sea, the annihilation of more than a hundred thousand orcs would definitely be a heavy blow to the Horde, a punch to the gut they wouldn't soon forget.

It now appears that the human loss will not exceed twenty thousand people. From any perspective, this would be a once-in-a-century victory, a triumph for the ages.

Duke had just turned his gaze away from the Windrunner sisters, who were fighting a tie with Lord Howler on the sea, a brutal, graceful dance of death, but was shocked to find that the peak duel between the strongest mage in Azeroth and the strongest warlock in Draenor had already come to an end.

No winner! It was a draw, a stalemate of immense power.

Antonidas and Gul'dan each covered their wounds, grimacing in pain.

The left shoulder of Antonidas's robe was burned, a gaping hole, and a black rune with an evil aura was wriggling on Antonidas's old body, trying to burrow deeper. Antonidas was using arcane energy to dispel the rune, trying to purge the corruption, but it was obviously not working. It was like trying to put out a bonfire with a squirt gun.

Over there, Gul'dan was also hit. A huge ice prism pierced his entire left shoulder, a jagged shard of ice. From the wound, icy lines spread towards Gul'dan's heart like a spider web, freezing him from the inside out. Gul'dan injected the flames of destruction in his hand into his shoulder to resist the invasion of cold air, trying to burn away the frost.

"Humph! I'll spare your life today, old man. Consider it a mercy."

"I'll leave your dirty head behind next time, demon!" Antonidas retorted, his voice raspy.

The two of them turned around and left without hesitation, their duel concluded, for now.

Antonidas reluctantly used teleportation to return to the headquarters, shimmering into existence, and Gul'dan waved his hand and turned into a ball of black mist, then disappeared on the sea, vanishing like smoke.

"Master, what's wrong with you? Uther, come and help!"

The place where Antonidas was covered began to radiate thick darkness, a swirling vortex of shadow. The sticky black breath had a strong ominous meaning, a palpable sense of dread, and it tried hard to drill deep into the old wizard's body and erode the old wizard's magic circuits, corrupting him from within.

Fortunately, Uther's holy light became even brighter, a beacon in the encroaching gloom. Although beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, his brow furrowed with effort, it took Uther about five minutes to completely dispel the darkness, purging the evil.

"Thank you. It seems that Paladin is indeed a great profession," Antonidas praised sincerely, his voice weak but genuine, then he turned to look at Duke: "What a terrible orc warlock, I am no match for him. If we continue to fight, I will definitely be the one to die. I can only give him a moderate injury at most. I don't know why he pretended to be seriously injured. I can only say that it will take at most a week for him to recover from his injury, but by then I may not be able to fight for the Alliance. I'll be out of commission."

"Don't worry! He won't come again," Duke said with great certainty, a knowing glint in his eye.

"Are you sure?" Antonidas asked, his voice laced with doubt.

"Yes!" Duke turned to look at Krasus in the crowd of Dalaran mages and said, "Please send the Speaker back to Dalaran immediately, and then ask Archbishop Faol to go to Dalaran and give the Speaker a thorough checkup. He needs a full work-up."

Originally, it would be best to send Antonidas to the capital of Lordaeron for recovery. But for political reasons, Antonidas would definitely prefer to stay in his old lair, Dalaran, to recover from his injuries. He was a creature of habit.

Krasus quickly opened the portal, a shimmering gateway, connected to Dalaran, and sent Antonidas away. Not long after, Krasus opened the portal himself and rushed back, a loyal subordinate.

The orcs were not stupid. After their several charges were repelled, thrown back like broken waves, they realized that with so many people crowded on the coast, they would sooner or later be annihilated. They gave up the blind attack and seemed to be waiting for something, biding their time.

Duke's pupils suddenly shrank to the size of a pinhole, his eyes widening in alarm.

Here we come!

It's finally here!

Duke stood up, his chair scraping back, and slammed his hand on the table, a resounding thud.

"Order all cavalry regiments to prepare and launch a counterattack against the enemy along the designated route. All reserve troops must move into combat positions, with the lance and javelin teams as the main force. It's time to hit 'em where it hurts!"

Finally, they were here. In the headquarters, the brave generals had been waiting impatiently, chomping at the bit. If it weren't for Duke's magnificent command, suppressing the Hordes time and time again, some kings might have protested long ago, demanding action.

Now Duke gave an order and most of the people in the command center left, rushing to their posts.

As he walked down the hill, Uther was a little confused, his brow furrowed.

"Your Excellency, Marshal Lothar, are we going to counterattack from the ruins of Southshore to the seashore? I have always been confused by this order. Does the Horde have cavalry? I don't think the Horde has anything that can stop your cavalry regiment and my Silver Hand. It seems like overkill."

General Haas, the commander of Alterac, was also puzzled. "It's even more strange for me. They actually asked my Mountain Eagle Knights to attack the enemy along the eastern hill with a gentle slope. The Mountain Eagles are indeed mountain knights and are accustomed to fighting in complex terrain. But I saw that Admiral Llane's infantry also did a good job. I can't think of any reason to send reinforcements. It's like sending a sledgehammer to crack a nut."

Lothar smiled, a very sunny, knowing smile: "Can you write ten or twenty reports at the same time, Uther?"

"No," Uther answered truthfully, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"How is that possible?!" Haas asked back, incredulous.

"But I know that powerful wizards all have the metamagic specialty of Multicasting. That is, the ability to do two things at the same time, or even many things. Duke is such a genius. He can read many times more reports than us very quickly. He also often finds many details that we don't notice. For those threats that he is not sure about, he will make preparations, but because he cannot convince others, he will get used to silence. He plays his cards close to his chest."

Lothar paused and continued, "However, it has been proven time and again that the preparations he made and the back-up plans he arranged were all correct and effective. Even if I don't want to admit it, I have to admit that he is better than me in terms of overall vision and command art. If he was a melee professional, perhaps he would be the head coach, the grand strategist."

What Lothar said was another fact of this era. People who value chivalry above all else tend to prefer melee heroes over mysterious magicians. More people subconsciously believe that only those who face the enemy head-on are real men, true warriors.

Ten minutes later, the signal to attack came, a deafening horn blast.

Many new creatures appeared on the coast, much taller and larger than the orcs. They were absolute behemoths.

Except for a few orcs who are over three meters tall, the average orc is about two and a half meters tall. But these creatures can easily reach a height of about four meters.

Ogres!

These huge creatures joined the battle, wielding huge clubs that looked like uprooted trees, and roared up the hill, a terrifying, guttural sound.

Bows and javelins were of no use. They bounced off their thick hides like pebbles.

Even if dozens of spears were stabbed into the ogre's body, they would not be able to end the life of this ferocious monster unless they hit its vital points, its single, vulnerable eye.

And every time the giant wooden stick was swung, a bunker was smashed to pieces and a whole row of shield soldiers were knocked away, sent flying like bowling pins.

The shield wall formation that humans relied on to fight against orcs became their biggest fatal weakness, a liability, causing every attack of the ogres to cause massive casualties, a bloody toll.

Aside from the ballistae and cannons on the top of the mountain, nothing could stop this giant creature. They were unstoppable.

The soldiers were defeated by this powerful blow, their lines breaking. The orc soldiers attacked from the gaps and then quickly spread, sweeping away the Alliance soldiers in the trenches, turning the tide of battle.

A group of figures wearing heavy cloaks and riding heavily armored war horses appeared on the already somewhat dilapidated dock, with dazzling red light blooming in the eyes of each horse, an eerie, malevolent glow.

The Mountain Eagle Knights led by Haas launched an attack on the Horde along the river beach under the eastern hills, a flanking maneuver.

Without the two powerful men, Antonidas and Gul'dan, to get in the way, to cause chaos, in order to attack the eastern hill in a more comprehensive manner, many tribes first came to the river beach, and then took a detour to attack the hill from the flank.

When the Eagle Knights arrived, the defense line on the mountain was already very tight, stretched thin. On the front line, Tirion and General Tom could often be seen leading the reserve team to act as firefighters and fill in the gaps in the position, plugging holes in the dike. Sometimes even Llane had to lead the army into battle himself, a king fighting alongside his men.

The only good thing is that Stormwind Kingdom still has sufficient reserve troops. However, the casualty ratio is shocking, a grim tally of lives lost.

It was under such circumstances that the Mountain Eagle Knights bypassed the flank of the Horde attacking the mountain, a swift, decisive move.

"Put down your lances!" Haas shouted, his voice ringing with command.

The knights lowered their nearly four-meter-long spears, their points gleaming, and drove their mountain horses to charge from the side, a thunderous assault.

The Mountain Eagle Knights of Alterac were not heavy cavalry in the traditional sense. Considering the mountainous terrain, the armor of this knight group was between that of light cavalry and heavy cavalry. They did not wear heavy armor, but only wore lighter chain mail and a layer of leather armor. The war horses were only equipped with a piece of leather armor on the front, a minimal defense.

In the complex terrain where the river beach connected to the hills, the Mountain Eagle Knights performed quite well, navigating the uneven ground with surprising agility.

With the heavy stomping of hooves, the knights quickly dispersed, looking for their own targets, singling out their prey. When they were more than two meters away from the target, they had already stabbed it with a spear, hitting the opponent's vital point, and the momentum of the warhorse penetrated the lance deeply. At the same time, the precisely designed and manufactured spear shaft could not withstand the strong reaction force and began to burst to the side, splintering.

The unlucky guy who was stabbed fell to the ground, impaled, and the knights threw away the remaining half of the gun, drew out the double-edged broadsword unique to Alterac, and chopped at the neck of the tribal warrior, a swift, brutal kill.

The rapid charge cut off the Horde's fierce attack, disrupting their momentum.

But Haas did not stop. He took his men around the beach and quickly evacuated from the river beach, a hit-and-run tactic.

The cavalry, which had lost speed, was no match for the tall orcs in a prolonged melee. Moreover, in the fierce battle, the Mountain Eagle Knights suffered heavy losses, their numbers dwindling.

Conventional combat power is to be dealt with by conventional forces. That was the rule of thumb.

The extraordinary monsters, however, were naturally fought by the abnormally strong Paladins. It was a job for heroes.

While charging, Uther soon saw the opponent that Duke had almost tailor-made for them. They were like something out of a nightmare.

They all had their faces covered with turbans so only their eyes were visible, glowing with an eerie red light, and each carried a massive two-handed sword, gleaming ominously.

The cavalry from Lordaeron thought they were fools and prepared to teach them a lesson with their lances, to show them who was boss.

In the cavalry manual, it was common sense to charge at each other with lances. Using heavy swords against lances was a last resort, a desperate measure. They were feeling lucky and were ready to use their advantage of having lances to collect a round of heads first.

Uther heard countless unfamiliar buzzing sounds, a strange, unsettling hum.

The cavalrymen who were still charging thirty meters away fell directly in front of these guys, collapsing in a heap. Not only did their horses stumble, but even those Lordaeron cavalrymen who did not die on the spot did not draw their swords to attack the moment they got up. Instead, they felt as if they were about to bleed from all seven orifices, and they tightly grasped their heads with both hands, screaming in agony.

"Ahhhhhh——" The cavalrymen rolled on the ground in pain, making inhuman howls, their minds shattering.

"In the name of Holy Light!" Uther witnessed it all with his own eyes, a sickening display of dark magic. At that moment, he completely understood why Duke specifically ordered the Knights of the Silver Hand to fight against these guys in cloaks: "These are demons! They use evil magic to attack us! They're not just warriors; they're sorcerers of the darkest kind!"

After saying that, Uther raised his warhammer high up, cast several holy seals on it, and the top of the hammer emitted a silver light like the moon, shimmering with divine power.

"Stand up, soldiers!" Uther shouted in his loud voice, his voice ringing with authority: "The holy light will drive away the darkness, but you must use your weapons to defend your honor! Fight for your lives!"

Dazzling light spread from the hammer, echoing the brilliant light of the morning sun, instantly driving away the darkness from the land. The holy light illuminated the warriors, and when the group of cloaked guys raised their hands again, no one fell. The spell was broken.

Although the people who climbed up and the cavalry behind them were still a little afraid, their courage wavering, when they found that no one fell, they mustered up their courage again, let out a deafening shout, and charged towards the cloaked knights, a renewed fury in their eyes.

However, at the moment of the fight, not only the cavalrymen, but even Uther was stunned.

Because these guys were wearing the standard armor of the Stormwind Kingdom Cavalry. The only difference was that they used the spiked shoulder armor commonly used by tribal warriors.

"No! Why!?"

Some Lordaeron cavalrymen screamed, their minds reeling. During the days when they were gathering in Southshore, they were repeatedly asked by their superiors to identify the equipment of each allied country. They suddenly found that their "allies" were standing on the opposite side of the enemy, fighting for the Horde, which they could not accept. In the moment of being stunned, many of them were hit and fell down, their confusion costing them dearly.

Uther saw the other's face clearly again.

Pale, deathly grey, without any blood color, a pair of eyes revealing an evil blue light with clear hostility, and most importantly, Uther did not sense any breath of life in them. They were dead.

"Blasphemy! Filthy Horde warlocks are raising the dead into living corpses!? Silver Hand, defeat them! Drive them back to the grave!"

Uther swung his huge two-handed hammer and easily knocked a death knight off his undead warhorse. Abundant golden holy light poured into the death knight's body, and the guy was blown to pieces by the holy light before he even reached the ground, exploding in a shower of bone and dust.

The Alliance soldiers cheered once again, inspired by the paladins' amazing skill and strength, their morale soaring.

Turalyon in the rear felt very conflicted. As a paladin, he should be with them, fighting alongside his brethren, but as Lothar's adjutant, he should stay in the center of Southshore and accompany Lothar to command on the spot. He was torn.

A brutal battle began between the Paladins and the Death Knights, with neither side gaining the upper hand. It was a clash of light and shadow, of life and unlife.

At first, Uther smashed four or five death knights to death, sending them back to whatever hell spawned them, but he soon met his match, his true opponent. A tall guy who claimed to be Talon Blood Demon actually withstood Uther's attack, matching him blow for blow.

Turalyon saw a death knight grab Dathrohan's arm with one hand during a contest of strength. The hand, like a rotting corpse, radiated darkness, a sickening aura.

However, Dathrohan, with a surge of divine power, used his holy light to dispel the darkness. Immediately, Dathrohan took advantage of the moment when the guy withdrew his hand and hit him on the head with a hammer. The skull shattered like broken porcelain, exploding outwards. Turalyon noticed that there was not a drop of blood flowing out of the skull, only dry, grey brain matter.

The Death Knights, despite their individual defeats, won victory after victory against ordinary Alliance cavalry, their numbers and dark magic overwhelming.

Turalyon suddenly noticed the signal coming from the hill, a pre-arranged flare.