Aurelius looked at the approaching tidal wave of the possessed army with an impassive expression. Inside, however, he couldn’t help but quail a little. On paper, 12-14,000 was already a staggeringly large number of troops. Even so, that number didn’t put in perspective the sight Aurelius saw arrayed outside the High Elven walls of Alerial.
The sheer scale of the enemy forces seemed to stretch on endlessly, a dark tide of bodies bristling with weapons and armor, illuminated by the eerie glow of the setting sun. Aurelius took a deep breath, steeling himself against the overwhelming sight. He knew that giving in to fear would only weaken his resolve, and the city needed him to be strong. Furthermore, taking a look around at the surrounding troops, grim but determined expressions plastered on all of their faces, Aurelius started to feel a sense of resolve build up within him. Aurelius took another deep breath, rechecking his status screen for what felt like the thousandth time and mentally running through the orders and plans the High Elven leadership had come up with the previous night.
With a little bit of arguing, the High Elven leadership had come to an agreement: in order to win this battle, they were going to have to use every long-range advantage that they had. That meant walls, the guard and archer towards, mage spells, screw it even throwing rocks if they had to. The key to their strategy was to maximize their defensive capabilities and force the enemy to engage them on their terms.
Despite the fact historical precedent had taught the High Elves time and time again to prevent the Dark Elves from entering the city and, if possible, engage them outside the city, Aurelius and the other leaders recognized that attempting to engage the possessed army outside the city, outnumber as they were, would only invite eventual doom. Plus, from the intelligence reports Aurelius had read, the Orcs were extremely dangerous in close combat, with nearly all of their fighters consisting of melee warriors.
Interestingly enough, when Aurelius had read the scouts’ reports and some of the history of the Orcs last night, he had become quickly interested in the way the Orc society operated. Or, had operated, before Maledrakor destroyed them all.
From what Aureluis could tell, the Orcs were split into “tribes” rather than kingdoms or empires, with each tribe having a tribe leader named the Orc Warboss. Now, the Orc Warboss wasn’t elected, selected, or even born into the position like many of the positions of power Aurelius had traditionally known. No, from what Aurelius could tell, that was way too civilized for these Orcs. Instead, the Orc Warboss tended to be the strongest, burliest, and, oftentimes, the most ruthless of all the Orcs within the tribe.
Even the way the Orcs waged war was different. While they still had the traditional battles, there was an aspect of their war between tribes that Aurelius was fascinated, and then quickly horrified, by. Apparently, if an Orc Warboss of a tribe defeated the Warboss of a different Orc tribe in single combat, the tribe of the defeated Orc Warboss would be assimilated into the tribe of the victor — no questions asked.
And where did the Chosen of the Orcs fit into all this? Well, he happened to be the Warboss of the strongest Orc tribe. This was all to say that Aurelius was shitting bricks last night, thinking about the absolute hulk of a monster he would have to fight today. Aurelius was also pretty sure he had a nightmare about it. And he knew many, many more were to come after today's fight.
Aurelius shook himself out of his reverie, looking back around the defense of the city of Alerial. The archers, positioned along the fortified walls, were reading their bows, their eyes fixed on the approaching horde. Mages stood behind them, chanting incantations and preparing spells that would unleash devastating effects on the battlefield. Engineers manned the siege catapults, ready to rain down destruction upon the enemy.
In the best-case scenario, the long-range firepower the High Elven army had brought to bear would be enough to take out at least most of the possessed armies before they reached the wall. Aurelius and the other leaders had known that was wishful thinking however and had also prepared for some contingencies. Throughout the city, traps had been sprung and melee combatants were stationed, preparing to fight in case the possessed army breached the city. If that did happen Aurelius knew it would be a fight for every inch of the city. The narrow streets and high buildings would become the theater of a desperate struggle, turning Alerial into a bloody battlefield. They had strategically positioned barricades and chokepoints to slow the enemy's advance, with concealed units ready to spring ambushes at a moment's notice. The plan was clear: wear the enemy down, make them bleed for every step, and never give them a moment's respite.
Despite their preparation for the worst, Aurelius had a faint gleam of hope that the walls would hold. After all, the city of Alerial was no pushover when it came to city defense. 20-foot tall walls surrounded the entire city with four massive gates, one on the north side, another on the south side, and the final two on the east and west sides respectively. Given that the possessed was attacking from the north, the High Elves had moved most of their long-range defense united to the north-facing wall prepared to defend against any breach attempted through the north gate.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Thankfully for the High Elves, the somewhat disorganized nature of the possessed army would make the city defense easier. The entire possessed army only marched with one siege weapon, a battering ram. Of course, the possessed army carried traditional ladders that they would place at the base of the city wall, allowing them to attempt to climb the 20-foot walls from the outside. But, if the High Elven defenders could destroy the battering ram before it reach the north gate and prevent any of the ladders from reaching the walls, the High Elven defenders might be able to trap the possessed army outside the gates of the city, allowing for easy pickings for any ranged High Elven units. At least, that was the plan they had in mind.
Personally, Aurelius was given two instructions. Firstly, by whatever means possible, destroy the battering ram before it reaches the gates of Alerial. And Secondly, if the city was breached, kill the Orc Chosen. Or, at least try.
Taking another deep breath, Aurelius once again looked at the approaching army of possessed. He still wasn’t able to accurately make out the forms of the possessed, but they were advancing quickly.
Aurelius turned to the archers and mages on the wall, raising his voice to be heard over the mounting din. "Prepare yourselves! Aim for the battering ram and any ladders they attempt to raise! We must hold them at bay!"
A ripple of acknowledgment spread through the ranks. The archers nocked arrows, their bows creaking under the tension, while the mages murmured spells under their breath, hands glowing with arcane energy. The air hummed with anticipation.
Aurelius positioned himself at the center of the north wall, where he could get a clear view of the approaching enemy. He glanced at Valen, who stood nearby, eyes wide but determined. "Valen, coordinate with the archers. Make sure they're ready to focus fire on any critical targets."
Valen nodded, a spark of enthusiasm returning to his eyes. "Got it, Aurelius. I'll make sure we give them our all.”
Instructor Donovan, now armed and armored, took his place beside Aurelius. "Remember, Aurelius, timing is crucial."
"I understand," Aurelius replied, focusing on the task ahead. He could feel the mana coursing through his veins, a familiar yet exhilarating sensation. He was ready.
Lord Gavrel, standing to the right of Aurelius, raised his hand, signaling the start of their carefully laid plan. "Archers, prepare to fire!" he commanded, his voice carrying authority and determination.
Aurelius watched as the archers drew back their bows, the sound of the strings taut with tension filling the air. "Hold," Lord Gavrel instructed, waiting for the perfect moment to release the first volley. "Hold..."
The tension was palpable, every eye fixed on the enemy forces as they drew closer. Finally, when the orcs and dark elves were within range, Lord Gavrel dropped his hand. "Release!"
A rain of arrows soared through the sky, darkening out the sun as they descended upon the enemy ranks. The first volley struck true, and the front lines of the possessed army staggered under the impact. Screams and roars of pain echoed across the battlefield, a grim symphony of war.
Another horn blasted out from within the city of Alerial, signaling both to the archers to prepare another volley and to everyone within the city to ready themselves for the inevitable clash. The archers quickly nocked their arrows once more, their eyes fixed on the advancing horde.
Looking around at the possessed army, who had stopped their slow march and started an uncoordinated run towards the city walls, Aurelius could now make out some of the forms of the possessed. As he remembered, the possessed were a horrifying sight to behold. Some bore the twisted features of once-recognizable races, their bodies contorted and warped by the dark magic of Maledrakor. Others were unrecognizable, their forms twisted and distorted beyond all recognition. Yet, despite their grotesque appearance, they moved with a terrifying sense of purpose, their eyes burning with an unholy light.
As the archers unleashed another volley of arrows, Aurelius could see the battering ram at the forefront of the possessed army, its massive frame propelled forward by the sheer force of the horde behind it. The sight sent a shiver down his spine, knowing that if that ram reached the gates of Alerial, the city's defenses would be severely compromised.
As the first members of the possessed army crossed within 300 yards of the city gates, Aurelius looked deeper into the possessed army, searching. Then he saw him. Or perhaps the Orc chosen would better be described as an it. Aurelius had already come to terms with the gigantic size of the Orcs within the possessed army. Yet, this towering 10-foot behemoth was on a whole different level.
The Orc Chosen stood as a towering colossus amidst the sea of possessed soldiers, his immense frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light around him. Clad in darkened armor that bore the scars of countless battles, he exuded an aura of raw power and primal ferocity. His muscles rippled beneath his armor, each movement he made was a testament to his incredible strength and every step sent tremors through the earth itself.
His face was a mask of savagery, with tusks jutting from his lower jaw and a twisted sneer that spoke of a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, gleaming with a dark light that seemed to pierce through the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze.
In one massive hand, he wielded a great axe that seemed almost comically oversized in comparison to his already imposing figure. The weapon crackled with dark energy, its edges honed to a razor-sharp edge that promised swift yet brutal death. But perhaps most terrifying of all was the aura of malevolence that seemed to surround him like a cloak. There was an undeniable sense of dread that hung in the air whenever he drew near as if the very fabric of reality recoiled at his presence.
Despite Aurelius’ distance standing on the top of the wall, Aurelius could feel the Orc Chosen staring straight at him, causing a cold sweat to run down Aurelius’ back.