As a commander of the Alliance, Alaric naturally wouldn't appear alone before the Horde, even if he was standing high atop the valley.
Around him, more and more figures emerged: elven rangers with bows in hand, Wildhammer dwarves wielding axes and hammers, and humans hauling large bundles of rolling logs and heavy stones.
Such a scene caused grim expressions to appear on the faces of Orgrim and the other orcs at the bottom of the valley.
Bows and arrows, rolling logs, heavy stones…
Once these things were hurled down from above, the orcs trapped at the bottom would face disastrous consequences.
Especially the logs and stones, there was no way these could have been found on-site. For them to be prepared and placed atop the high valley cliffs could only mean one thing: the enemy had been planning this ambush for a long time.
Orgrim stared intently at the human mage who had him utterly in the palm of his hand, then bellowed, "Everyone, move! Advance! If you want to live, follow me deeper into the valley!"
With the Warchief's command, the orcs surged forward, scrambling toward the wider clearing deeper in the canyon. Staying behind in the narrow valley mouth now would be nothing short of suicide.
"Such a noble Warchief has come from afar, how could we possibly let you leave so easily?" From above, Alaric looked down upon the orcs in the valley, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
His magically enhanced voice rang out across the chasm: "Truth be told, we've been waiting here for quite some time. Please, don't waste the generous gifts we've prepared for you."
At Alaric's command, a volley of arrows rained down as the high elven rangers unleashed their full barrage.
Shooting down at the orcs fleeing in panic below was like target practice.
With the advantage of elevation, not only was the elves' field of vision vast, but the arrows also struck with greater force thanks to gravity.
Many orcs couldn't even find cover before they were turned into pin-cushions.
Compared to the elves' arrows, the storm hammers hurled by the Wildhammer dwarves had a shorter range, but were far deadlier.
These lightning-charged weapons, infused with shamanistic power and aligned with the dwarves' naturalistic beliefs, could crack skulls open with ease.
Each strike exploded with electrical energy, causing chain lightning that arced into nearby targets.
In a valley as packed as a sardine can, one hammer could kill an orc and paralyze three or four more around it.
Yet, the most lethal weapons were still the rolling logs and heavy stones.
These highly trained human soldiers had now become porters.
Their only task was to move the massive stockpiles of logs and boulders to the edge of the cliffs and push them down.
From such heights, these objects turned into terrifying instruments of death.
The orcs trapped below stood no chance, entire swathes were flattened in an instant.
Though orcs were known for their strength and resilience, even they couldn't withstand logs and stones plummeting from such heights. Bones shattered, tendons snapped, and many were crushed into pulp.
Orgrim gritted his teeth, pushing forward through the deadly rain of arrows and rocks that descended from both sides of the canyon.
He led the charge deeper into the valley, ignoring the constant screams of pain behind him.
Each cry tore at his heart, it meant another elite orc warrior had died in vain.
But he couldn't afford to stop. If he did, he'd be among the next to fall.
Thankfully, the clearing inside the valley wasn't far off, and most of the Horde's forces were already positioned there.
The orcs at the valley mouth represented only a fraction of their total numbers.
Though the flanking forces and those cut off outside the canyon suffered heavy losses, the core of the army remained intact.
In the wider clearing, as long as the orcs stayed toward the center, they would be safe from the ambush attacks from the valley cliffs.
At long last, Orgrim reached the clearing and narrowly escaped death.
Perhaps realizing further pursuit would be futile, the Alliance had not laid ambushes in this section of the valley.
Finally in a safe zone, the Warchief allowed himself a breath of relief. He looked around, only to see that barely a tenth of the orcs had managed to escape with him.
The narrow valley entrance was now littered with orc corpses.
"Damn the Alliance… Damn you, Maverick Sandor!" Orgrim clenched his fists, his voice seething with rage.
"Your greatest mistake was leaving us this shelter and giving me a moment to breathe...
As long as you don't kill me, I will make you pay. My brothers' blood will be repaid in kind!"
Yet in saying this, he seemed to forget, it was the Horde that had invaded Azeroth.
Just as Orgrim was preparing to let the remaining orcs rest and await a counterattack, he felt something was wrong.
As a seasoned commander, he considered Alaric, his opponent, not only more terrifying and cunning than Anduin Lothar, the Alliance's supreme commander, but also far more ruthless.
Though Lothar was battle-hardened and experienced, he followed rules and adhered to knightly honor, predictable and restrained.
Alaric, on the other hand, was clever, unpredictable, and utterly pragmatic. In his mind, knightly honor was a joke.
Would someone like that leave such an obvious gap in his plan?
Scanning the dry trees and withered grass throughout the valley, Orgrim's expression changed.
Though the dead vegetation looked natural in a valley choked with miasma, they were all highly flammable. If the Alliance set a fire…
Cold sweat drenched Orgrim's back. He opened his mouth to warn his troops to clear out the flammable material,
But Alaric's command came first.
Countless rangers emerged on the surrounding slopes, equipped like the ones before, with longbows and quivers on their backs.
But this time, their arrows were tipped with fire.
Alaric stepped forward as well, channeling powerful magic. Soon, the ground beneath the dead forest ignited.
Flames surged upward into pillars of fire, spiraling like a vortex of flame.
A few unfortunate orcs were caught and consumed, though the spell's limited radius meant few immediate casualties.
But Alaric's "Flame Storm" wasn't meant to kill directly.
The violent blaze instantly lit the withered trees. The intense heat caused distant trees to smoke.
Within moments, fire spread rapidly through the forest, scorching the orcs and sending them fleeing in agony.
Then, as if triggered by the spell, the elven rangers above set their arrows aflame and fired them down into the valley.
Flaming arrows streaked across the sky like falling stars, striking the dry wood and grass below.
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