Far above the continent, in the Central Magic Empire, the mages of the City of All Laws were watching. The tallest tower of the city reached a hundred meters high, capped with a shining sphere that reflected the sky.
In one chamber of that tower, a crystal mirror floated in the air. On its surface flickered visions of distant lands. Before it stood a black-robed mage, his face hidden by a featureless white mask. His fingers moved in practiced gestures, keeping the mirror's focus steady.
Behind him, another masked figure scoffed. "César, you're hopeless. You've had that surveillance orb floating above a battlefield for half a month—just to watch a war between mortals and orcs? Aren't you bored out of your mind?"
César chuckled lightly. "Patience, my friend. Look carefully, and you'll see why." His gaze sharpened on the mirror's surface.
The other mage snorted. "If you're going to spy, at least pick a fight worth watching—something even. Look at this nonsense. On the orc side alone—350,000 heavy infantry, 50,000 archers, 100,000 Corrupted Wolf Knights, 50,000 griffin cavalry. That's the emperor's personal host. The best the Orc Empire has."
Another mage leaned closer, scanning the runes. "Wait. Three hundred orc wizards as well." His voice caught in surprise.
"Exactly." César's voice held a quiet amusement. "Now compare the opposition."
The mage obeyed. His eyes widened. "Are you joking? Twenty thousand mortals. No magicians, no sorcery. Just infantry of unknown type. And they dare face half a million?"
He almost shouted in disbelief. "They're seeking their own deaths!"
The commotion drew more magicians into the room. One by one they gathered around the mirror, curious.
"What madness is this? Less than twenty thousand, deep in the Orc Empire?"
"They've gone less than a hundred kilometers from Halma itself!"
"Fools. Their lives will vanish like sparks in a storm."
Even the female mage with the pink heart painted onto her mask sighed. "How pitiful. These mortals will be wiped away."
"Change the view, Sizell," another impatient mage muttered. "Let's at least watch them die quickly."
But César's voice cut through the room. "No. This… is worth watching."
His strange conviction unsettled some of the others.
"Ha! Then let's bet!" laughed a mage with a black-marked mask—Tang Ke. "I'll bet the orcs win."
The others jeered. "That's not even a bet. Everyone knows the humans are finished."
Tang Ke grinned sheepishly. "Come now, humor me. I've lost every wager until now. Let me win one."
César smiled faintly. "Then I'll bet on the mortals."
The chamber went silent.
"You've lost your mind," one mage said flatly.
"Throwing money away," another muttered.
But the female mage with the heart-mark mask hesitated. "I'll side with César. He never acts without reason."
In the end, nine mages bet on the Orc Empire. Only two wagered on Gavin Ward's Kingdom of Ross.
César's mask hid his expression, but in his heart, a quiet instinct whispered: These mortals are not ordinary.
---
The Battlefield
Beneath the spinning golden-patterned crystal orb that drifted above the Orc Empire, the land trembled.
A black hill rose from the plains, its top scarred with trenches. Upon its peak flew the flag of Ross—black field, red-bordered, with a crimson dragon embroidered at its heart. Around it, twenty thousand soldiers worked with machine-like precision.
MG42 general-purpose machine guns lined the trenches in rows. Each company had at least five. Across the entire hill, over a thousand heavy machine guns pointed outward, their barrels already fed with belts of ammunition.
Beside them, hundreds of 14.5mm twin-mounted anti-aircraft guns tracked the skies. Ammunition crates stood stacked neatly. Crews barked final checks.
Every man was ready.
Far away, the Orc Emperor Longdan Gol stood atop his massive war platform. The mobile tower rose above the sea of troops, giving him a full view of the battlefield. His tusked grin spread wide.
"Pathetic humans. Do they think holding a hill will save them? This is no battle—it's a slaughter." He raised his axe high. "Beastman Legion—attack!"
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
War drums thundered across the plain.
The orc horde surged forward. 350,000 armored hoplites advanced in formation, spears and axes glinting under the sun. Their roars shook the ground, mouths full of fangs, eyes red with fury. The sunlight flashed across their armor like waves of fire.
Above, 50,000 griffin riders screamed like demons, wings blotting out the sky. They lowered five-meter spears, diving toward the hill in a storm of wings and steel.
"Crush them! Tear them apart!" the orc soldiers bellowed, voices merging into a single monstrous roar.
It was the kind of army mortals told stories about—the kind of host that toppled kingdoms and razed continents.
And it was bearing down upon only 20,000 Ross soldiers.
---
The Watching Mages
In the Central Magic Empire, the mages watching through the crystal mirror gasped.
"It's madness. Twenty thousand against half a million."
"They'll be drowned in the first wave."
"Pity. They could have lived quietly."
Tang Ke laughed. "Hahahaha! Look at it! This will be over in minutes."
But César only folded his arms. "Watch closely. The humans have yet to move."
---
The Clash Begins
On the hill, Gavin Ward stood behind the trenches, binoculars in hand. He watched the tide of orcs thunder forward, the griffins darkening the heavens. Around him, his officers waited, tense but steady.
"Hold," Gavin said softly. "Wait."
The first line of orc hoplites drew within a thousand meters. Their boots shook the ground, their voices rolled like thunder. The griffins swooped closer, the sunlight flashing on their spears.
"Fire."
The order was quiet, but it cut through the roar.
And then—
The Ross line erupted.
A thousand MG42s roared in unison. Streams of lead tore into the charging infantry. Orcs fell in swathes, bodies shredded before they even reached the base of the hill.
Overhead, the anti-aircraft guns barked. Hundreds of 14.5mm guns spat fire, filling the skies with walls of bullets. Griffins screamed as wings shattered, riders torn from their saddles. They fell like rain, spears tumbling uselessly to the ground.
The orc horde did not falter. Their sheer numbers pushed them forward. But for every step gained, ten bodies fell.
The hill shook with the rhythm of fire, a storm of steel and thunder that drowned the roars of half a million.
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