On the Northwest Legion's position, officers calmly watched the approaching orc raiders. When the first volley of arrows landed in front of them, a few contemptuous sneers even rang out from the infantry squares.
"Artillery ready!" As the order was relayed, the gunners quickly adjusted the muzzle angles. These rigorously trained artillery crews could complete the entire process of loading, aiming, and firing within twenty seconds.
"Explosive grenade, 400 meters away, fire!"
Amidst the deafening roar of artillery fire, dozens of field guns simultaneously spewed fire, their shells tracing graceful parabolas in the air before exploding about ten meters above the Orc Cavalry formation.
The shattered metal fragments rained down in a fan shape, instantly turning dozens of cavalrymen and their horses into sieves. One horse, having lost its rider, continued to gallop wildly for over a hundred meters before finally collapsing to the ground.
Before the surviving raiders could recover from the shock, a second wave of shells roared in, some exploding only after landing, the shockwaves hurling dirt and limbs into the air.
"Change formation! Scatter!" the orc Centurion roared hoarsely. The well-trained steppe cavalry immediately broke into smaller groups, but the Northwest Legion's firepower was more deadly than they had imagined.
When the raiders closed to within two hundred meters, the roar of flintlock muskets suddenly rang out, with three columns firing in turn, forming a continuous barrage.
The soldiers in the front row would kneel and fire, then quickly retreat to reload, and the second row would immediately take their place. This cycle repeated itself, and the sound of bullets piercing leather armor was like a downpour hitting a tent. The charging cavalry fell in droves like wheat being harvested by an invisible scythe.
The most valiant Centurion, leading over thirty personal guards, broke through the barrage of fire, only to be met with a devastating barrage of cannon fire fifty meters in front of the nearest human line. Six eagle cannons positioned on the flanks opened fire simultaneously, unleashing a storm of lead pellets that instantly turned Centurion's mount into a bloody, mangled mess. As he was thrown into the air by the powerful momentum, his chest was already riddled with metal fragments.
Within fifteen minutes, the orc light cavalry of over a thousand men was routed. The orc soldiers fled back in disarray, leaving behind craters and mutilated corpses with smoke rising from the grasslands. A few surviving warhorses wandered aimlessly beside their masters.
Abar witnessed the entire process from a distance, his bronze face turning ashen, and the other orc generals also became solemn.
They noticed the terrifying nature of the human army; the accuracy of ranged units far exceeded expectations, especially the weapons that could explode after being fired, which were unheard of and seemed to have never appeared in the last war. The coordination between the various units was seamless, and there was not a single gap in the firepower.
The old shaman Otasi's bone staff left deep marks on the ground: "They seem to be more difficult to deal with than they were on Blackstone Plain."
After saying that, he glanced at Kalem.
Kalem's hand gripping the reins trembled involuntarily. Among the figures twisting and falling in the hail of bullets were his own elite troops. The shaman was right; Glaeman's army was stronger than it had been on Blackstone Plain, and not just in size.
Aijile stared intently at the golden dragon banner in the human army formation, his fangs grinding together.
On the Northwest Legion side, the staff officer was reporting the results to Paul: "Preliminary statistics show that 367 enemy soldiers were killed, and only two of our soldiers were grazed by stray arrows."
Paul lowered his binoculars, the lens reflecting the commotion of the orcish army in the distance. He turned to the messenger and said, "Tell the troops to remain on high alert; this is just an appetizer."
Behind the command post, medics were examining the wounded on stretchers; two casualties had occurred in the recent battle.
One artillery observer was slashed in the arm by a stray arrow, while another, less fortunate, private was shot in the knee and may be left with a disability, though he was lucky to survive.
The quartermaster was busy counting ammunition consumption, making sure that each soldier's ammunition pouch was filled with sixty rounds of standard ammunition.
The battlefield suddenly fell into an eerie silence, with only the smoke of battle slowly dissipating under the blazing sun. But this silence was more suffocating than any war drum, for both sides knew that the real battle had only just begun.
Just then, Abar raised his battle axe high, slicing a cold light in the blazing sun. As the heavy sound of bull horns echoed across the plains, the orc army poured out like a flood bursting its banks.
The entire wilderness seemed to tremble as the 30,000 Orc Cavalry, leading the main attack, split into three waves and pressed towards the human army in a fan shape.
At the forefront were lightly armed horse archers, lying prone on their horses with arrows nocked, ready to unleash deadly mounted archery once they were within range.
In the center were heavy cavalrymen clad in scale armor, their spears like a forest, their warhorses clad in leather armor, charging like a moving iron wall.
The flanks are maneuverable rangers, ready to outflank and cut off the human army's retreat.
Abar personally commanded the central army, with the Royal Tent elite cavalry beside him raising the white wolf banner of the Zhaerge Clan.
Great Chieftain understood the essence of tactics—not to aim for a decisive blow, but to wear down the enemy through continuous wave-like charges, waiting for their formation to loosen before delivering a fatal strike.
The orc light cavalry were the first to approach, with the archers splitting into several groups and approaching the Northwest Legion's defenses from different directions. In previous battles against humans, their tactics had been very effective: approach at high speed, fire arrows within range, and then quickly retreat.
But they soon discovered that the human army's firearms had a much longer range than their bows and arrows.
The shortbows used by the cavalry had an effective range of only 50-80 meters, while the Northwest Legion infantry had already begun to aim their guns when the Orc Cavalry charged to within about 200 meters.
"preparation--"
The Orc Cavalry is about 100 meters away from the human army formation.
"First platoon, fire!"
The volley of flintlock muskets exploded like thunder, lead bullets whistling through the air, instantly piercing the leather armor of the front-line cavalry. Horses neighed and collapsed, riders were thrown off their horses, and the subsequent charge formation was immediately disrupted. The orc horse archers didn't even have time to fire a single arrow before suffering heavy casualties outside the firearms ' range.
The Northwest Legion infantry maintained a continuous barrage of fire in three columns. Lead bullets pierced the Orc Cavalry's armor, and the warhorses, propelled by inertia, continued to charge forward a few steps before collapsing to the ground. The charging cavalrymen fell in droves as if they had crashed into an invisible wall, amidst the hail of bullets.
But the Orc Cavalry under Abar's personal command were also exceptionally brave. The cavalry behind them endured the gunfire and continued to advance, hastily unleashing a volley of arrows.
"Shotguns, fire!"
At that moment, dozens of cannons fired simultaneously, spewing not solid shot, but a deadly hail of shrapnel.
Thousands of lead pellets swept across the charging cavalry ranks in a fan shape, instantly tearing the front-line horses to shreds and halting the momentum of the charge. The Orc Cavalry's dense formation became sitting ducks; wherever the metal pellets passed, screams of agony filled the air.