Northwest Legion launched more than one hot air balloon.
The hot air balloon that flew over the orcs had no tether; its purpose was purely to intimidate the orcs by taking advantage of their ignorance of it, and then use "layered airflow navigation" to find a safe place to land.
However, the Northwest Legion didn't just release one hot air balloon.
On a hot air balloon actually used for reconnaissance, a scout, binoculars in hand, had a clear view of the orc army below. The observer rapidly recorded data while simultaneously relaying a series of numbers to the semaphore beside him.
"The enemy's formation extends approximately 800 meters in depth... and 1500 meters in lateral distance... with heavy cavalry positioned on both flanks..."
The signalman immediately waved red and blue signal flags to transmit the information to the command post on the ground.
Paul stood on the makeshift lookout tower, while his adjutant, holding binoculars, simultaneously interpreted the information from the air:
"The enemy forces total approximately 100,000... 60,000 combat personnel... and approximately 8,000 heavy cavalry..."
The staff officers quickly marked the distribution of the orc legions on the map.
Paul nodded slightly, tapping his fingers lightly on the table: "More than I expected..."
The signalman on the ground immediately used his lens to reflect sunlight and send a confirmation message back to the balloon.
The observer on the balloon adjusted the length of the tether to ensure it remained at the optimal observation altitude.
They could even clearly see the commotion in the orc army caused by the appearance of the hot air balloons—those once fearsome steppe cavalrymen were now as panicked as a herd of startled beasts.
"Continue to monitor enemy movements," Paul told the messenger. "Especially their cavalry; I need to know the exact location of each unit."
Abar's bronze face was ashen and iron-like. He suddenly pulled out his battle axe and chopped it down at the wooden stake beside him. The flying wood chips silenced the restless generals instantly.
" Otasi!" he growled, and the old shaman immediately raised his bone staff inlaid with a beast's skull.
Suddenly, a ghostly green flame burst forth from the tip of the staff, condensing in mid-air into the shape of a ferocious wolf's head.
"Look closely!" Otasi's hoarse voice was amplified by the wolf's head, several times louder, "That's just a puppet made of cloth and rope by humans!"
Aijile led the Royal Tent guard into the most chaotic formation, cutting down several still trembling soldiers in succession.
"If anyone dares to undermine morale again, I'll skin him alive and feed him to the wolves!"
The orc prince pointed his blood-stained sword to the sky, " The spirit of the grassland will protect true warriors!"
Behind the lines, the shamans beat their war drums and chanted ancient requiems, the drumbeats mixed with the shrill whistles of bone flutes, gradually drowning out the soldiers ' whispers.
Many warriors in the battle formation suddenly rolled their eyes back and began to dance wildly – this "divine intervention" performance quickly diverted everyone's fear.
Abar seized the opportunity to leap onto his warhorse, his eyes gleaming fiercely in the sunlight, and roared, "Tonight I will fill Glaeman's skull with wine!"
The orc warriors instinctively raised their weapons, and their battle cries resounded once more.
Abar reordered a move north.
Two massive armies met in the open fields outside Stone Bridge Town. The dry north swirled up yellow sand, shrouding the battlefield in a grim atmosphere.
Abar rode his mount to a higher spot and squinted as he surveyed the opposing army formation.
The Northwest Legion's ranks gleamed with a metallic sheen in the sunlight, their disciplined formations as if measured with a ruler. At the forefront were several neat infantry squares, soldiers in dark blue uniforms, white sashes crisscrossing their chests in sharp lines. They were arranged in three horizontal lines, the bayonets on their flintlock muskets forming a chilling jungle of steel.
Artillery positions were strategically placed among the infantry formations, metal cannons slightly raised on their supports. Gunners stood at attention beside them, wooden crates neatly stacked with spherical shells and powder packs. To the flanks and rear were cavalry units arranged in echelon formations, light cavalry and cuirassiers clearly separated, their horses pawing restlessly, but the riders maintaining perfect spacing.
Most striking was the central banner fluttering in the wind—a crimson banner embroidered with golden dragons. The orcs had excellent eyesight, and Abar vaguely saw a young human surrounded by a crowd, holding up a cylindrical object and looking in their direction.
"What an interesting formation."
Great Chieftain stroked his mount's mane, noticing that the human army had not deployed its cavalry on the flanks as usual, but rather further back.
What's even stranger is that, in his view, those Cannons that should have been deployed further back were now being deployed forward like sharp knives.
The Otasi shaman approached, leaning on his bone staff, his cloudy eyes sweeping over the opposing army: "They've abandoned traditional depth deployment, choosing instead to concentrate all their firepower on the front. This is either arrogance, or..."
"Or maybe there are new tactics we don't know about." Abar continued, his rough fingers unconsciously tracing the blade of the battle axe at his waist.
Kalem rode over, " Great Chieftain, shall we proceed with the attack as planned?"
Abar did not answer immediately. He stared at the tightly packed military formation opposite him, the entire legion like a precise machine.
Kalem waited quietly for the Great Chieftain's reply.
The memory of the crushing defeat at Blackstone Plain is still fresh in Kalem's mind; the fire-breathing iron pipes and the continuous volleys of gunfire still occasionally echo in his nightmares.
But he was convinced that, under the personal command of Great Chieftain Abar, the orc army would be able to wash away the humiliation of the last time.
Abar took a deep breath. "Send raiders to probe their right flank first."
Under the command of the Great Chieftain, the orc raiding cavalry swept away like a violent sandstorm.
They rode muscular steppe horses with short, thick necks, bushy manes, and white breath coming out of their nostrils. These horses displayed astonishing endurance and explosive power as they galloped. The cavalrymen wore light leather armor and colorful strips of cloth wrapped around their heads, which fluttered in the wind.
Their tactics were swift, unpredictable, and elusive. The approximately five hundred raiders split into several groups, much like a pack of wolves that dispersed and then regrouped on the grasslands.
The cavalry at the forefront began changing formations three hundred paces from the human army, sometimes spreading out in a fan shape, sometimes contracting into a wedge shape. They did not charge directly, but instead circled the enemy formation like circling vultures waiting for their prey to reveal a weakness.
The first wave of cavalry suddenly accelerated and unleashed a volley of arrows at a distance of 250 paces. The specially made whistling arrows emitted a sharp whistling sound in the air. This psychological tactic was designed to disrupt the enemy's formation.
Most of the arrows landed fifty paces in front of the human phalanx. In the past, those untrained human soldiers would have already begun to stir with unease.
However, this time, the orc light cavalry's arrow rain did not achieve the desired effect.