The battle descended into chaos shortly after its commencement.
Two hundred Blood Clan magic bats swooped down, unleashing torrents of fiery projectiles.
Bang, bang, bang...
Scorching fireballs erupted on the ground, each capable of engulfing an area within ten paces. Two hundred such projectiles cascaded from the sky, leaving a fiery wake behind the demonic bats.
If raindrops were a natural disaster, then these fireballs raining down were an unnatural calamity, intent on consuming the world and its inhabitants.
Boom!
The light emitted by the fireballs outshone the dying glow in the sky.
"Protect His Highness and the royal carriage at all costs! I shall divert the enemy's attention!"
Grot witnessed the inferno and erupted in fury. The spirits of the northern warriors dimmed after a single onslaught of flames.
Two squads of elite warriors rushed forward and carried the still-unconscious princess from her carriage.
Amid the scorching flames, these resolute warriors maintained their composure.
"Form ranks! Archers, suppress the enemy!" The desperate command echoed across the fiery hellscape, swallowed by the roar of flames and the screeches of monstrous bats. Ten archers, faces grim under their soot-stained helmets, maneuvered through the inferno, their practiced movements a beacon of order in the chaos.
Thwip! With a flick of the wrist, an arrow sang through the air, finding its mark. A massive bat, its leathery wings ablaze, coughed a choked cry as the shaft pierced its neck. With a sickening thud, it plummeted to the earth, splattering gore and grass in a macabre dance of death.
But the victory was short-lived. Another bat, its eyes burning with malevolent fire, screeched and unleashed a torrent of flames. The archer who had felled its kin was engulfed, his scream lost amidst the inferno. Rage and despair warred within the remaining archers, but their arrows, though deadly, were too few against the swarm.
Counterattacks against the Blood Clan proved futile. Their hulking Cyclops, impervious to arrows, waded through the battlefield like living battering rams. Meanwhile, the diving tactics that had decimated the Cyclops were useless against the agile human warriors, who fought with a brutal efficiency honed by years of bloodletting.
Yet, it was the sheer number of magic bats that proved the most terrifying. Wave after wave descended, their fiery projectiles turning the battlefield into a writhing sea of flames. The defenders, their shields scorched, their morale dwindling, were pushed to the brink. Each arrow shot was a desperate prayer against an overwhelming tide of darkness.
The Blood Clan, their numerical superiority and magical might evident, pressed their attack. The defenders, exhausted, battered, and defenseless, faced a grim reality: they were losing.
Unlike the Cyclops, the warriors lacked substantial magical resistance. Even senior warriors succumbed to the fireballs unless they wore enchanted armor.
The Blood Clan's relentless assault plunged the battlefield into chaos. Despite their attempts to rally, the sudden attack and numerical advantage of the enemy sent the warriors into disarray.
Grot's eyes turned crimson, fueled by rage towards the Blood Clan who unscrupulously unleashed their magic from the heavens.
"Piater, the princess is in danger!"
In a flash, an aide approached Grot, his face etched with terror and urgency.
Grot's head snapped in the direction indicated. The princess's carriage was engulfed in an immense sphere of fire, reaching a height that could melt steel.
His expression contorted with alarm.
He could no longer delay.
Stolen novel; please report.
Grot closed his eyes and, with the prowess of a Level beta plus warrior, extended his senses to gather crucial information.
Level beta warriors were capable of activating a unique ability:Danger Sense.
A searing arrow tore through the sky, piercing the wing of a colossal magic bat. The wounded beast veered off course, plummeting towards the earth with a strangled shriek. But before it met its fiery demise, a blur of steel and fury intervened.
Grot, the grizzled veteran, launched himself into the air with a guttural roar. His foot connected with the falling creature's back, the impact momentarily halting its descent. Using the stunned bat as a springboard, he propelled himself upwards, soaring like a predator amidst the inferno.
Another bat, drawn by the commotion, swooped down, its razor-sharp teeth bared in a vicious grin. Fear was a stranger to Grot's battle-hardened gaze. With a flick of his wrist, he deflected the creature's snapping jaws, the resounding clang echoing through the battlefield.
But this wasn't a mere parry. Driven by the momentum of his ascent, Grot's hand continued its arc, slicing through the bat's skull with a sickening crunch. Its headless body tumbled lifelessly into the inferno below. In the same fluid motion, he pivoted mid-air, his fist connecting with the jaw of another bat, shattering bone and silencing its screech.
The Blood Clan mage who dared command the creature met the same fate, Grot's fist pulverizing him against the unforgiving earth. The power of a Level beta plus warrior, honed by countless battles, was undeniable.
The swarming bats, once a terrifying storm of claws and fire, unwittingly became Grot's macabre platforms. Against these Level alpha plus creatures, he was a whirlwind of destruction, his movements a deadly ballet choreographed in the sky.
Over thirty beasts fell prey to his aerial dance of death in a matter of minutes. Each leap, each strike, was a testament to his unmatched strength and unwavering rage. He moved with the grace of a predator, yet his actions spoke of a deep-seated fury, a desperate fight for survival for something dearer than just his own life.
Grot's presence in the sky wasn't just captivating, it was a beacon of hope amidst the despair. Each fallen bat chipped away at the overwhelming swarm, offering a fleeting glimpse of victory in the face of overwhelming odds.
Morgen was deeply concerned by the alarming spectacle unfolding below.
Humans were not Cyclops, and it was far more challenging to dispatch such formidable and intelligent warriors with the same tactics.
It was the first time Morgen had suffered such severe losses.
"Execute Plan Two!"
The densely packed demon language bats dispersed upon receiving orders. Once Grot had dispatched all the magic bats in the sky, leaving him without a platform to leap upon, the ground-bound warriors faced an insurmountable challenge.
At that moment, the ground trembled violently.
The warriors who had sought refuge from the fireballs turned their attention to the source of the disturbance.
What they witnessed next would forever etch itself into their memories.
A horde of *cyclops*, each standing over 6 or 7 m tall, emerged from the mountains and charged towards the warriors.
The earth shook beneath their thunderous footsteps.
These creatures had gray-white wrinkled skin, massive black armor protecting their hulking frames, and muscular arms wielding iron maces. Their heads were shielded by helmets adorned with a single horn and a large, single eye.
The sight was utterly awe-inspiring.
"Cyclops!" uttered a warrior in disbelief.
It was the first time they had laid eyes on these legendary beings, but the colossal one-eyed giants left no doubt as to their identity.
The mythical Cyclops.
Simultaneously, they were the City of Dawn's most potent warriors.
Morgen's masterstroke.
After over six months of relentless iron mining and the efforts of Nuggets, the half-dwarf craftsman, the city had successfully forged armor befitting these colossal warriors.
A Cyclops's mace weighed six tons, while its half-inch-thick armor could withstand even the assaults of siege weapons.
Unarmored Cyclops were formidable, but this battalion was an overwhelming force, striking terror into the hearts of their opponents.
Standing at an average height of 1.9 m, the Northern Warriors seemed like children facing giants.
A sense of helplessness washed over them.
This was an advantage inherent to their race, not one that could be bridged by mere strength.
Even Grot, a Level beta plus warrior, paled in comparison to a Level alpha plus Cyclops.
The power of these ancient beings derived from the blood of giants coursing through their black armor.
Even the unfearing warriors could not suppress a gasp at this spectacle. They were forced to look up to these legendary titans.
"Stand your ground, my brothers!"
A thundering voice bellowed from the rear of the Northern ranks.
The warriors' morale, which had faltered, surged anew.
Northern warriors had charged fearlessly into battle even against dragons.
What of Cyclops?
The men of the frozen plateau had never faltered before!
Then, a breathtaking scene unfolded before their eyes.
Over forty Northern Warriors, armed with heavy swords and a spirit that defied death, charged towards the heavily armored giants with the unwavering courage of those who knew no fear.
They were willing to die with honor.
The warriors' bravery shone brighter than the flames that consumed the battlefield.
However, their valiant efforts were futile against the cyclops' overwhelming advantage.
Courage could overcome a superior individual, but it was powerless against an enemy countless times stronger.
The Northern warriors, not even as tall as the Cyclops' thighs, had to leap to strike at their joints.
Their long swords barely scratched the cyclops' armor, and even with all their strength, they could not pierce the half-inch-thick metal.
In contrast, the Cyclops' massive maces swung with devastating force, shattering the warriors' bones with ease.