"Borg failed? And now the elves are here?!" Azog's eyes widened in disbelief. It was bad enough that a city suddenly appeared before him, but it was defended by elves? That was a nightmare come to life. Taking down a city guarded by elven archers was nearly impossible, and Azog knew it.

"Raise your shields! Hold formation! Don’t scatter!" Azog bellowed, swinging his dark red warhammer furiously. He watched as the orcs in the front ranks fell to a relentless storm of elven arrows, his frustration building.

The orcs hurried to obey, raising their crude wooden shields to defend against the hail of arrows from above.

"Do they really think that will work?" Novia, the elven commander, muttered under his breath. His cold eyes scanned the battlefield. "They underestimate us."

"Aim for the center," Novia commanded with a voice laced with resolve. "Break their ranks."

In an instant, an armor-piercing arrow, beautifully crafted and deadly, tore through an orc’s shield as if it were made of paper. It pierced straight through the shield and into the orc’s throat, sending the creature crumpling to the ground. Another arrow struck the neck of a nearby orc, spilling blood across the battlefield.

"Loose!" Novia ordered. Another volley of arrows arced through the sky, striking orcs as they attempted to push forward.

Below the walls, the once formidable horde of orcs had become scattered remnants, struggling to advance through the deadly rain of arrows. Those who managed to escape the onslaught carried their ladders toward the city walls, only to find an insurmountable obstacle ahead—a wide moat.

The moat, nearly 20 meters across, surrounded Los Saint-Neil like a fortress. It had been James and Novia’s brilliant idea to use the natural terrain to their advantage. With the city’s wooden walls barely reaching six meters in height, they knew they needed something more. And thanks to Mage Ladir's magic, they had transformed the nearby Swift River into a wide defensive barrier.

"Release!" James shouted, as human archers unleashed their own barrage of arrows. The elves had done their part; now it was the humans' turn to take up the defense.

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"Pfft!" The sounds of arrows piercing armor and flesh mixed with the groans of dying orcs. Bodies toppled into the moat, their blood staining the water.

Novia smiled grimly, watching the devastation unfold. "Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction.

James, standing nearby, glanced at Novia uneasily. There was something unsettling about the elven commander’s smile. "What's with him?" he muttered to himself.

Peter Gross, the human commander, sidled up to James and whispered, "His father was killed by orcs. That’s why he's like this."

James nodded in understanding. "I see…"

Peter sighed. "Look at our troops. The orcs are relentless, but our soldiers are exhausted."

"Stop shooting!" Novia suddenly commanded, leaning over the wall to inspect the battlefield. The elves ceased their fire, retreating from view.

"The elf arrows are too deadly; we can't break through..." The orc vanguard commander knelt before Azog, trembling as he delivered the bad news.

"Damn them! Where is Borg?!" Azog roared, his frustration boiling over. Borg was supposed to be delaying the elves, not allowing them to reinforce this city. What was going on?

Meanwhile, far away, Borg, leading his army through the dark forest toward the Lonely Mountain, sneezed as the cold wind whipped through the trees. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, oblivious to Azog's anger.

---

Back at Rapid City, Roland stood on the walls, watching the distant riverbank. "How’s the battle going at Los Saint-Neil?" he asked Carlos, his trusted advisor.

"It's a stalemate. The elves’ arrows are cutting the orcs down before they can get close," Carlos replied. "Their archers are unmatched."

Roland clicked his tongue in envy. "I’d kill for a few of those archers."

"By the way, how’s the moat working out for them?" Roland asked with a smirk.

Peter Gross, who had just arrived, laughed. "It’s working wonders. The orcs lost nearly 2,000 men trying to cross it today."

"Welcome to Rapid City, Knight Peter," Roland said, nodding respectfully. A dragon knight was a rare and prestigious ally.

Peter bowed slightly. "I’m here on behalf of King James and King Novia to request aid. The orcs will likely intensify their attack tomorrow. We need Carlos and his dragon to help us."

Roland considered the request for a moment before nodding. "You’ll have your support. But I think the fiercest fighting will come the day after tomorrow."

Carlos chimed in, "The orcs have started cutting down trees in the dark forest. They’re probably building large shields to protect themselves from arrows. They might even be planning to cross the river."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Thank you for the information. I’ll inform the kings." He bowed again before leaving.

"Give them my regards," Roland said with a smile. As Peter departed, Roland turned his gaze to the river. Despite the winter cold, the river hadn’t frozen yet. Large chunks of ice floated in the water, but it was still a formidable barrier.

"We need to stay vigilant," Roland warned Marcus, his captain of the guard. "If the river freezes, the orcs could cross it and attack us directly."

"I'll make sure the sentries stay alert," Marcus replied, already moving to carry out the order.

Roland sighed. "Let’s just hope the orcs don’t discover Rapid City before we’re ready for them."

---

In the growing cold of the north, both men and elves braced themselves for the next phase of the war.