The Demon King and his army emerged from the dense treeline, stepping onto the wide, open field before Norvik’s imposing gates.

The earth trembled under the march of gnolls and goblins, their guttural growls and bloodthirsty cries filling the air.

As they drew closer, the massive gates of Norvik creaked open.

From within, a disciplined force marched forth, gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Soldiers clad in polished armor carried weapons of steel and iron, their presence exuding confidence.

Among them were mercenaries—rugged, battle-hardened warriors who bore scars of countless fights.

At the head of the formation was Count George, an imposing figure encased in a resplendent silver full-body armor.

His sapphire cape billowed behind him, and in his hands was a long, ornate spear.

He radiated authority, his sharp gaze sweeping over the enemy forces.

Despite the numbers before him, his expression remained resolute.

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air as both sides stared each other down.

The Demon King raised a single hand, his crimson eyes narrowing. "Charge forth!"

His voice cut through the silence like a blade, a command that rippled through the monstrous ranks.

With a deafening roar, the goblins surged forward, their crude weapons glinting in the sunlight.

Behind them, gnolls lumbered forward, their snarls shaking the air.

Count George raised his spear, pointing it toward the charging horde.

"Hold your formation! For Kingdom, charge!"

The soldiers roared their battle cry, their voices merging into a single, defiant sound.

With shields raised and swords drawn, they surged forward to meet the oncoming wave.

The two forces collided in the middle of the field, the impact echoing like a thunderclap.

The frontlines were a chaotic maelstrom of clashing steel and blood.

Goblins swarmed the soldiers, their jagged blades clanging uselessly against the polished armor.

The soldiers counterattacked, their weapons slicing through green flesh with precision.

Heads rolled, and goblin blood splattered across the battlefield.

Despite their crude armaments, the goblins’ sheer numbers made them dangerous.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

They swarmed like ants, clinging to soldiers and stabbing at the weak points of their armor.

A soldier screamed as a goblin’s dagger found the gap between his chest plate and shoulder guard, the blade sinking deep.

Yet, the mercenaries were undeterred.

Experienced in dealing with such rabble, they worked in small groups, cutting through goblins with practiced efficiency.

Their movements were precise, their strikes lethal.

But the real threat came from the gnolls.

Towering over the goblins, these hyena-like monsters were feral and relentless.

They swung massive weapons—spiked clubs, rusted axes, and heavy maces—with devastating power.

A gnoll swung its club, shattering the shield of a soldier and sending him flying backward, his armor crumpling under the force.

Another soldier managed to pierce a gnoll’s side with his sword, but the beast snarled and yanked the weapon free, unfazed by the gushing wound.

"They feel no pain!" one mercenary shouted, his voice tinged with desperation as he dodged a gnoll’s wild swing.

The soldiers fought valiantly, their swords and spears finding their marks, but the gnolls’ sheer resilience was terrifying.

Even when an arm was severed or a leg crushed, the gnolls continued their rampage, their bloodlust unwavering.

For every goblin or gnoll they cut down, another two seemed to take its place.

The endless wave of monsters wore down the soldiers’ defenses, and cracks began to show in their formation.

A mercenary stumbled, his sword arm trembling from exhaustion.

A goblin leapt onto him, shrieking as it drove a jagged blade into his neck.

The man’s scream was cut short, his lifeless body falling to the ground.

Count George, at the heart of the battle, fought tirelessly.

His spear was a blur, piercing goblins and gnolls with precise thrusts.

Blood coated his silver armor, but he remained steadfast, rallying his men with his presence.

"Hold the line!" he roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Do not falter!"

The soldiers responded with a renewed surge of determination, their weapons flashing as they pushed back the horde.

From the safety of the fortress walls, archers and mages provided relentless support, their attacks raining death upon the monstrous horde below.

Arrows darkened the sky, their tips gleaming as they descended into the mass of goblins and gnolls.

Screeches and howls erupted as arrows found their marks, piercing through crude armor and gnarled flesh.

Mages stood behind the archers, their hands aglow with arcane energy.

Fireballs exploded in the midst of the monsters, engulfing them in flames, while bolts of lightning tore through multiple enemies, leaving only charred remains.

Above the cacophony, priests stood at the ready, their voices rising in fervent prayer.

Their divine magic surged across the battlefield, imbuing the soldiers with renewed vigor.

Wounds knit together as healing light washed over the injured, while holy enchantments enhanced the strength and speed of the weary warriors.

For a time, the defenders managed to hold the line, their combined efforts keeping the monstrous tide at bay.

But the strain of the unending battle was beginning to show.

The goblins and gnolls attacked without hesitation, their sheer numbers overwhelming.

Every time a soldier cut one down, another two stepped over the corpse to take its place.

Goblin champions—hulking brutes wielding oversized weapons—were especially fearsome, their savage strikes capable of shattering shields and breaking bones.

"Focus on the champions!" a captain shouted, his voice hoarse.

A group of soldiers surrounded a goblin champion, their swords and spears striking in unison.

But the beast fought with feral fury, swinging its massive club in wide arcs, scattering the attackers like leaves in a storm.

Meanwhile, goblin shamans stood behind the horde, their chants weaving dark magic.

Bolts of shadow and fire hurtled toward the walls, targeting the archers and mages.

Battle gnolls, serving as their guards, deflected retaliatory arrows with their thick hides and makeshift shields.

The battlefield became a nightmarish hellscape of blood and screams.

Soldiers cried out in pain as claws and crude blades found their marks, their lifeblood soaking the ground.

The goblins’ high-pitched shrieks mingled with the gnolls’ guttural growls, creating an unbearable cacophony.

Above it all, the Demon King stood at a distance, his crimson eyes fixed on the chaos.

He hadn’t moved a single step since the battle began, his towering frame exuding an aura of quiet menace.

His inaction was maddening to the defenders—a silent mockery of their efforts.

“Why doesn’t he move?” a soldier muttered, his voice trembling as he glanced toward the imposing figure.

“Don’t think about him!” another snapped. “Focus on what’s in front of you!”

Despite their best efforts, fatigue was taking its toll.

The relentless onslaught of goblins and gnolls was pushing the soldiers to their limits.

Even with the aid of the archers, mages, and priests, the human forces were beginning to falter.

Just as despair began to creep into the defenders’ hearts, a chilling stillness settled over the battlefield.

The goblins and gnolls abruptly ceased their attacks, parting like a tide as their master began to move.

The Demon King stepped forward, his massive figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of carnage.

His armor glinted ominously in the dimming light, and with each step, the ground seemed to tremble.

“He’s coming…” a soldier whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.

The defenders braced themselves, gripping their weapons tightly.

Count George raised his spear, his voice ringing out with defiance.

“Do not waver! Stand your ground!”

The soldiers rallied around him, forming a tight formation as they prepared to face the true terror of this invasion.

The Demon King’s steps were unhurried, almost casual, as if the countless lives lost meant nothing to him.

His crimson gaze swept over the defenders, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The air grew heavy with his presence, and for a moment, even the goblins and gnolls fell silent, their twisted faces lit with reverence and fear.

The battlefield, once alive with the chaos of battle, now awaited the clash between mortal defiance and unholy might.