"Prepare the next strike! Quickly!"
On the battlefield, the air itself trembled with heat. Emperor Longdan Gol bellowed orders from his towering platform, his tusks glinting in the sunlight. Below him, three hundred orc wizards strained to sustain their massive magic circle. The ground glowed with scarlet lines, flames gathering into spheres of destruction.
The temperature rose sharply. Soon, dozens of fireballs the size of wagons burned into existence, hovering above the circle, their light washing over the terrified faces of nearby infantry.
From afar, Ross observers tracked every movement. An officer crouched beside his telescope, voice calm but precise. "Target confirmed. Distance locked. Adjust angle forty-five."
Behind him, sixty 155mm artillery guns shifted with mechanical discipline. Gunners checked elevation, hands steady on the triggers.
Meanwhile, Longdan Gol sneered down at the humans' hilltop defenses. "Stupid mortals. Be buried in fire." He thrust his clawed hand forward.
The fireballs shot skyward, trailing long tails of red flame.
"Fire!"
The Ross officer's command cut across the trenches.
At once, the artillery thundered. Shells screamed through the air, their sound like tearing metal.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
Explosions ripped into the orc host. Entire ranks vanished in fire and shrapnel, bodies flung high before crashing down in broken pieces. The ground shook with the shockwaves.
"What is this?!" orcs shrieked. "Are humans using magic?!"
The panic spread quickly as shells struck again, detonating amid packed formations. Soldiers screamed, covering their heads in terror, praying the next blast would not fall on them.
"Angle forty-five, confirm! Fire again!"
The observer's voice carried over the din.
Once more, the Ross artillery unleashed its wrath.
---
Fire Against Fire
The orc wizards held firm. Under Longdan Gol's furious gaze, they released another volley. More than a dozen fireballs, each burning hotter than a forge, streaked toward the Ross hilltop.
They slammed into trenches, erupting in geysers of flame. Dirt, sandbags, and men alike were hurled into the air. Soldiers screamed as fire clung to their uniforms, skin blistering.
"Support us, brothers! Burn them all!" the orc wizards cried, desperate to prove their worth.
For a brief moment, the heavy infantry cheered. "The wizards are with us! Burn the humans! Burn them!"
But their joy died instantly.
"Pop!"
A cheering soldier's head burst apart, a sniper's bullet blowing through him. Around him, machine guns resumed their deadly rhythm, mowing down the infantry who had dared raise their voices.
The Ross firepower had not slackened at all.
---
Counterbattery
"First row, ten rounds, rapid fire! Target: the circle itself!"
The order rang out.
The front batteries of the Ross artillery swung their barrels, aiming not at the infantry but at the heart of the glowing orc formation.
"Fire!"
Sixty guns roared in sequence. Shell after shell streaked across the sky and fell directly into the wizard circle.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The ground split open. Orc wizards screamed as explosions tore through their ranks. Limbs and robes scattered like scraps in a storm. Dozens died in the first strike.
"They've found us! The humans have targeted our circle!"
Panic spread among the casters. Their formation faltered, fireballs fizzled mid-air.
"Hold the line!" Longdan Gol's voice bellowed like thunder. "It takes them longer to prepare than us—strike again! One more volley and the humans will break!"
But he was wrong.
The Ross artillery required no chanting, no rituals. They simply reloaded, adjusted, and fired again.
"All guns, full barrage! Cover them!"
The earth convulsed as sixty cannons poured constant fire into the circle. Each shell detonated with merciless accuracy.
Wizards fell like wheat before the scythe. Those who tried to flee were cut down by shrapnel. Within minutes, the great formation shattered completely. The survivors stumbled, burned, bleeding, unable to regroup.
Longdan Gol's eyes widened, tusks grinding. "Impossible! How can their magic strike so fast, so precise?!"
It was not magic. It was technology. Artillery.
But for an orc emperor who had only ever known sorcery, the reality was incomprehensible.
---
Collapse of Morale
The breaking of the circle was a disaster. The infantry saw the glowing formation collapse, saw their wizards torn apart, and fear gripped their hearts.
"Our circle—our wizards—gone!"
"We can't win! They're not human—they're monsters!"
Terror spread like plague. Orc soldiers turned to flee, only to be cut down by the Ross machine guns.
MG42s roared without pause, their barrels glowing red as gunners sprayed into the panicked mass. Every second, dozens fell.
The heavy infantry who had been proud of their iron armor now dropped weapons, scrambling backward through the blood-soaked mud.
One soldier, half his body blown apart by an explosion, clawed at the ground, sobbing. "Help me! I don't want to die! Please!" His bloody hand grasped the ankle of a comrade—only for the comrade to shove him away and sprint for his life.
Others screamed, their voices breaking. "This is hell! We're all going to die! I want to go home!"
Bullets cut them down mid-flight, their heads bursting, bodies tumbling lifeless into the mud.
---
Rout
The orc front collapsed completely.
What had begun as a mighty charge of five hundred thousand now devolved into chaos. Soldiers threw away spears, shields, and axes. Formations broke apart. The once-proud army became a sea of backs, retreating in blind panic.
"Rout! Rout! The front is broken!"
Tens of thousands screamed and fled. Griffins wheeled overhead, their riders torn between fleeing and diving in desperation. The ground below was a charnel field of corpses, armor shattered, banners trampled into the bloodied dirt.
From his platform, Longdan Gol trembled with fury. His eyes bulged, veins throbbing in his forehead.
"Stand and fight, you cowards! Fight!" he roared, but his voice was lost in the storm. Even his royal guard shifted uneasily, glancing toward the retreating tide.
This was no ordinary defeat.
This was annihilation.
---
Watching From Afar
In the City of All Laws, the mages stood frozen, silent before the mirror.
"No… this can't be right."
"Five hundred thousand… routed by twenty thousand?"
"Those weapons… they weren't magic."
Tang Ke, who had mocked César earlier, gaped in disbelief. His voice cracked. "H-how…? This isn't possible!"
But César only smiled beneath his mask. "I told you. These mortals are not ordinary."
---
Aftermath of the Defeat
By the time the sun lowered on that day, the Orc Empire had suffered the worst defeat in its history. Tens of thousands lay dead on the plains. The survivors fled in panic, their formations shattered, their pride obliterated.
Gavin Ward stood on the hilltop, binoculars lowered. Around him, his officers saluted, faces grim but triumphant.
"The enemy is broken. Their emperor himself tasted humiliation today."
It was the first great step toward crushing the Orc Empire entirely.
And for Longdan Gol, the memory of this day would haunt him—the day half a million of his finest were broken by twenty thousand humans.
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