Advancing toward Gorlion's location, Mike, and Sophia witnessed a captivating sight: Gorlion locked in a ferocious one-on-one duel with Joearai, the orc chieftain. Just as they were about to intervene, Gorlion's voice rang out with undeniable authority, halting them in their tracks, "Hold! I must face him alone, for the one who defeats him gains command over his army. I, the indomitable hero of the east, shall become the next khan."
The weight of his declaration hung in the air, a testament to the significance of the battle. With a nod of understanding, Mike and Sophia withheld their intervention, respecting Gorlion's determination to prove his mettle in this pivotal showdown.
"That asshole is strong but not even half as strong as he thinks he is," Mike commented, his eyes fixed on the intense duel between two powerful opponents. The clash between the two near-equals was a testament to their magical power.
"Is it really that simple to take control of an orc army?" Sophia wondered aloud, her gaze still fixed on the battle unfolding before them. The prospect of commanding a force as mighty as the orc clans seemed almost too good to be true.
"Damn, if we take him down ourselves, we'd have both the orcs and the elves under our command," Mike chimed in, his mind racing with the possibilities.
Sophia's expression turned thoughtful, “True, but let's not forget Gorlion. He's a potential ally, and it would be stupid to piss him off by undermining his duel."
"Well, we could always bring him back, just like the others." Mike's responsed darkly.
"Mike, that's a fucked up thought, even for a joke. Gorlion has only ever offered his help including gifting us a key based on his promise to Valicar over two decades ago. He's an honorable man; I'm sure he'll join our cause if he emerges victorious," Sophia's voice was stern at the implication.
In the heart of the battlefield, Joearai, wielded his massive ruin axe with a ferocity that scarred the earth with each of his formidable strikes. The clash between him and the S-rank hero, was a mesmerizing display of sheer power. Joearai's lack of knowledge of his magic was more than compensated with his innate instincts, channeled from his deep-seated rage, amplifying his physical prowess to astonishing heights, accentuating his already impressive abilities. The impact of their weapons colliding echoed through the air, the chieftain's axe emanating a radiant glow with each strike.
Orcs who had yet to ascend the ladders were fixated on this dramatic spectacle, their blood-lusted cheers resonating in support of their chieftain, Joearai. His advantage over Gorlion was obvious, his dominance was felt in every movement. As time passed, his might only grow more pronounced, fueled by an unbridled fury that manifested through his natural magic. The orcs both on and below the city wall were caught up in the fervor of the moment, rallying behind their chieftain with a passionate energy. Joearai's power was undeniable, his rage an unquenchable flame that burned hotter with each passing second.
Gorlion was disarmed and shoved by a massive fist, sending him crashing to the ground just as Joearai's enormous ruin-enchanted axe hovered menacingly, ready to cleave his chest open. Fueled by an unyielding will to win, Gorlion tapped into the essence of the earth's power, transforming his hands into rock-hard extensions of himself. His rocky gauntlets intercepted the axe's lethal trajectory, but not without paying a heavy price. The blade tore through his makeshift defense, severing several fingers in the process, the pain lancing through him. However, it stopped agonizingly short of reaching his heart.
"DIE!, Human! I shall feast on that arrogant heart after I carve it out of you!" Joearai's enraged bellow echoed across the battlefield, his fury a tangible presence in the air.
"I am the Indomitable, hero of the east, and I shall not yield!" Gorlion's voice rang out, defying the odds stacked against him. His resolve was unshakable, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. The power of the earth flowed through him, and his rocky hands moved with a calculated might. With a fierce surge, he shattered Joearai's formidable ruin axe into fragments. The axe's arcane power ignited in a spectacular explosion, the shockwaves momentarily obscuring the battlefield in a maelstrom of dust and debris.
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As the haze of dust and smoke dissipated, Gorlion emerged from the chaotic aftermath, standing firmly on his feet amidst the stunned silence that had enveloped the battlefield. Joearai lay headless, his reign of terror brought to a brutal and definitive end. Gorlion's triumph was undeniable, though it was underscored by the cost of victory – his missing fingers, a testament to the brutal toll of battle. Ignoring the pain, he raised his injured hand, the severed head of the orc chieftain clutched within his remaining fingers. A surge of triumph and vindication overcame him, and he let out a resounding roar that echoed across the battlefield.
In response, the watching orcs erupted in jubilant cheers, their loyalty swiftly transferring to their new leader, Gorlion, the undeniably strongest warrior among them. The fate of the city had been determined, and a new chapter awaited its people, led by a hero whose indomitable spirit had secured their victory.
"Let's just dip. I never want to lay eyes on this shit hole again," Mike's voice carried a tone of profound weariness as he soared over the amassed armies. Below, Gorlion, his body still bearing the wounds of the intense battle, stood resolute, issuing orders to both orc and elven forces. Remarkably, both sides seemed to heed his commands, despite the violent conflict that had raged just moments ago. Gorlion's charisma proved to be the unifying force that the situation needed, as both armies began the arduous task of clearing the battlefield and making preparations in the aftermath of the weeks-long siege.
"We can't leave without Altheack and securing our alliance," Sophia reminded.
"And what if they refuse to help? Or worse, what if Altheack decides to stay behind? It's not like it would be the first time we've been abandoned by someone we trusted." His words carried a faint, poignant undertone. The idea of losing Altheack to her mother weighed heavily on his mind, a prospect he grappled with internally.
"I know you’ve never been one to do things out of the kindness of your heart, but the whole reason we even came here was to gather allies, not just go on a murder spree," Sophia admonished as they proceeded towards the lord's hall.
"Yet who is it that put those strong fuckers in our bag?" Mike retorted, his tone holding a mix of annoyance and sarcasm.
After touching down on the palace grounds, they proceeded to make their way back to the lord's hall. Yet, before they could advance far, several guards and servants intercepted them. Despite their worn state, the lingering effects of weeks in captivity and hours of battlefield combat evident in the grime and gore that clung to them, they were offered refreshments, food, and even the prospect of a bath. Typically, they might have declined such comforts, but the layers of filth that practically coated them left a grotesque trail of gore in their wake, much to the dismay of the palace's cleaning staff. The allure of the elven hot springs and the prospect of washing away the accumulated dirt and blood proved irresistible.
"Just for a few hours, Mike," Sophia suggested as they settled into the soothing warmth of the bath.
"We really should get out of here, Soph. I don't trust these bastards after the way they treated us – like caged animals," Mike's thoughts resonated with suspicion, even as they gorged themselves on the food and drinks provided.
"All the more reason to let them make it up to us," Sophia retorted playfully, a light chuckle escaping her as they were presented with a bottle of much-needed elven spirits.
"Well, as long as they keep the drinks coming..." Mike's resolve seemed to waver, and he eventually gave in, taking the bottle and swiftly downing its contents.
The rejuvenating embrace of the hot springs enveloped them, their weariness and tension melting away under the attentive care of the elves. Their soiled clothes were swapped for new, elegant attire, the flowing garments a stark contrast to their battle-worn appearance. Upon leaving the bath, their old clothes were returned to them, though now reduced to little more than rags, apart from their armor. Surveying their armor, Mike couldn't resist commenting. "We're definitely in need of an armor smith," he mused, his gaze fixed on their battle-scarred armor, marked with holes and lacking large sections. In its current state, it resembled an inadvertent leather crop top, with significant gaps where metal plates had once been.
"It's crafted in the dwarven style. Maybe we can find someone to repair it," Sophia suggested, slipping into her new clothes. After dressing, they proceeded to join a feast, a testament to the city's surprisingly well-maintained food supplies despite the ongoing siege. The feast replenished their appetites and invigorated their weary bodies, preparing them for the imminent audience with Altheack and her mother. The weight of crucial matters loomed, as the fate of their alliance and the city of Eldoria was poised to be decided. The unfolding discussions would shape the course of their journey in ways they couldn't yet anticipate.