Under the pitch-black night sky, orc warriors gathered in a low-lying, dry river valley, their warhorses puffing out white breaths and their iron hooves pawing the soil restlessly.
The torchlight danced across the orc's ferocious face, making his fangs appear like bloodthirsty blades.
Chief Urkok —an old warrior with a black leather eyepatch over his right eye—stood on a protruding rock, his sharpened battle axe raised high in his hand.
"Warriors of all tribes!" His voice, like the scraping of gravel, carried far across the silent plains. "Those humans think their fire-breathing tricks can conquer the grasslands? Tonight, let them know—this place will forever belong to the orcs!"
The warriors struck their shields with their scimitars, producing dull thuds, and deep war cries rolled from the depths of their throats.
Urkok abruptly ripped off his blindfold, revealing empty eye sockets— scars left by human archers ten years ago in front of Watchers Fortress.
"They took my eyes, but they can't take away my thirst for revenge! Tonight, we will tear those blue-clad bastards to shreds like wolves tearing apart a flock of sheep!"
He grabbed the torch stuck in the ground, its blazing flames illuminating his contorted face: "Burn their tents! Cut off their heads! Water the steppe with their blood! For the glory of the Great Prairie!"
"For the Royal Tent!"
"For the grasslands!"
More than a thousand Orc Cavalry lit torches at the same time, and in an instant, the entire valley was as bright as day.
The warhorses reared up and, urged on by their riders, charged out of the depression. The torches formed a raging fire dragon, sweeping towards the faint lights of the human camp in the distance.
The thunderous sound of iron hooves shook the earth, and the burning torches left long trails of flame as they charged forward. Urkok charged at the forefront, his single eye reflecting the approaching human camp. The night wind howled past his ears, carrying the stench of impending bloodshed.
"Kill them all!"
The orcs' war cries shattered the night's tranquility, and the burning fire dragons swept towards the sleeping camp with destructive force.
In Urok's plan, they would leap over the ridiculous fence ahead, rush into the human camp like a whirlwind, throw torches, and the fire would throw the human camp into chaos. The warriors would then take advantage of the chaos to hack and slash, annihilating the group of humans who dared to enter the grassland.
But events unfolded far from his expectations.
Orc Cavalry, charging at the forefront, suddenly let out a shrill howl—the horse's forelegs snapped as if bitten by invisible sharp teeth, causing it to kneel down violently and throw its rider off its back.
Urkok's single eye widened as he saw a nightmarish scene in the flickering firelight:
Stretching for hundreds of paces, the grass was entwined with countless gleaming metallic snakes. These fine wires were not stretched straight, but intertwined at bizarre angles. Each wire was covered with sharp barbs, and some even deliberately drooped to near the ground, specifically to trip and break a horse's leg.
"Stop! Stop!"
Urkok's roar was drowned out by the crashing of the following cavalry. The second and third ranks of orcs had no time to react as their horses slammed into the thicket of steel thorns at full speed. The barbs dug deep into the horses' chests and the riders' calves, and the more they struggled, the deeper the rusty hooks bit.
A maddened warhorse reared up, only to have its neck entangled by a wire higher up. The fine metal wire instantly dug into its flesh, and blood splattered out amidst its painful neighing.
A young orc tried to cut the wire with his scimitar, only to find that the seemingly thin metal wire was unusually tough, and the blade only produced a few sparks when it struck it.
"What the hell is this?!" roared a Centurion whose face was covered in blood. His mount was lying on the ground convulsing, its abdomen slashed open by three intersecting wires, its intestines spilling out.
Urkok staggered off his horse, bringing his torch closer to the gleaming traps.
Now he saw it clearly—these wires were not randomly placed. Some were taut like bowstrings, some were spiraled and coiled, and many tiny barbs were deliberately pointed upwards, waiting for flesh and blood to run into them.
Just as Orc Cavalry was making a mess in front of the barbed wire, a series of muffled "bang-bang" sounds suddenly came from the Ausser Army camp.
Dozens of fist-sized points of light rose into the air, trailing long plumes of smoke as they streaked across the night sky, flying towards the orcs like a meteor shower flying in reverse.
Urkok instinctively looked up, his pupils contracting sharply—the points of light unfolded in the air, transforming into blazing white "flame flowers." Each "flower" burst forth with intense light, appearing like tiny suns against the backdrop of the night, illuminating the surrounding grassland in exquisite detail.
The orcs' retinas, which had become accustomed to darkness, were instantly stimulated, and many warriors covered their eyes and screamed in pain.
"My eyes!"
"I can't see anything! Nothing—"
The orbs of light eventually fell to the ground, but they did not go out. As if by magic, they continued to burn, releasing a blinding white light.
One of them landed right at Urok's feet. He looked through the excruciating pain—it was a small metal can, its surface covered with pores, and something inside was burning fiercely. The bluish-white flames even melted the surrounding grass.
"This is witchcraft! Humans have used dark magic!"
A young orc warrior retreated in terror, only to have his cloak caught on the barbed wire. His scimitar slashed wildly at the glowing metal canisters, but only made the light more blinding—sparks from the blade rubbing against the magnesium ignited even more chemicals.
The night raid had failed. Urkok realized that he and his companions were about to be in grave danger. He roared with all his might, "Retreat! Retreat now—"
Before the words were even finished, the Ausser Army camp erupted in excitement.
Hundreds of tents were opened at the same time, and disheveled human soldiers surged out like a tide. Disturbed from their sweet dreams, they were full of morning grumpiness and couldn't wait to vent it.
"Free fire!"
At the officer's command, the roar of the firearms tore through the night sky, and the Orc Cavalry, illuminated by magnesium flashes, became the most conspicuous target, with the muffled sound of lead bullets piercing leather armor rising and falling.
Urkok watched as Centurion beside him suddenly let out a muffled groan, followed by a burst of blood from his chest. His body was still firmly bound by barbed wire, hanging like a pathetic specimen among the steel thorns.
The warhorses' mournful cries were particularly piercing. A chestnut horse that had already turned back was shot and reared up, throwing its rider onto the barbed wire behind it. The young orc warrior rolled and screamed amidst the spikes until a bullet mercifully ended his suffering.
"Don't panic! Don't panic!" Urkok pulled out his battle axe and finally managed to cut the wire binding the warhorse, only to find that the surviving cavalry had already been routed.
Even more terrifying were the human cavalry who had surrounded them, raising their sabers high, the blades gleaming coldly under the magnesium light, having already cut off Orc Cavalry's retreat.