No one, not even the most seasoned griffin rider, knew where that emerald green arrow came from, or where in the blazes it was going. It was as light as a feather, a mere wisp of rag caught on a hurricane, yet it sliced through the sky above the flame-scorched land, through the raging sea of fire, finally hovering dozens of meters up. Not a single orc dragon paid it any mind; this particular shade of green seemed too harmless, too innocent, like a particularly fluffy bunny.
But then, things got weird.
An orc, riding a red dragon, launched a dive he'd performed a thousand times – a textbook maneuver aimed at the human position north of the Thandol Bridge. Even though all the humans had seemingly fled, if those crossbows and cannons fixed on the hilltops weren't reduced to ashes, the humans only needed to pop out of their bunkers to rain hellfire down on the orc army attacking the north bridge.
At that very moment, the innocuous green arrow merged with the green of the orc dragon rider's neck. A silent arrow, a whisper of death, pierced the roar of the dragon's descent. No more life. The orc's eyes were wide as saucers, frozen in a mask of utter bewilderment. He had no clue why he was dying, or when he'd even been hit. Blood, a crimson ribbon against the sky, streamed from his throat, painting a long, gruesome line due to the dragon's breakneck speed. His vision went dark, and he tumbled from the red dragon's back like a sack of potatoes.
Suddenly without its master, the young red dragon looked lost, like a puppy whose owner had vanished. It quickly choked off its dragon breath. Dragon's breath wasn't exactly a parlor trick; it took a monumental amount of energy for a dragon to unleash it. The continuous inferno it had just spewed had left it gasping for air, and now that its rider was dead, it was, naturally, happier than a pig in mud to be free. With a joyful roar, it immediately flapped its colossal wings and shot skyward, a streak of scarlet against the blue. Before receiving any further orders from 'that thing,' it longed to breathe the sweet air of freedom. This thought, pure and simple, made it abandon the battlefield faster than a goblin abandoning a bad deal, soaring off to parts unknown.
The unfortunate demise of the orc caught the attention of the other Dragonmaw Clan dragons. Their eyes, wide as copper bells, darted around at warp speed, desperately searching for the source of the attack from the ground. This wasn't a one-off fluke, oh no. Soon, more emerald green arrows materialized, streaking across the sky like vengeful spirits. No one knew where they came from, but everyone knew what they meant: one orc after another, shot dead by a single, silent arrow.
"Where!? Where in the name of the ancestors!?" "Who saw the enemy!?" "I didn't see a damn thing!" "Argh! Nazuru's dead! And Bato, too!"
The Dragonmaw Orcs were in a full-blown panic, their expected crushing victory turning into a bloody mess. They hadn't killed many humans, but they'd burned a whole lot of military gear that, to them, seemed utterly worthless. What in the blazes is going on!? The orcs began to dread the sight of that innocent hint of green. They even yanked their red dragons' reins whenever they spotted a flash of it, sending the dragons scrambling skyward at ludicrous speed.
It was useless. Those green arrows were like ghosts, able to coordinate their attacks in ways that defied logic. For example, an orc would see an arrow streaking in from the left, and as he frantically tried to dodge, another arrow would silently materialize from his right-rear blind spot, putting an end to his miserable life. After the twentieth orc dragon got a one-way ticket to the afterlife, not a single orc dared to ride their red dragon within a hundred meters of the ground.
At that moment, they suddenly noticed something else: the flames on the earth below had been extinguished. It wasn't that the fire had run out of things to burn; it had simply been snuffed out. A chilling breath spread rapidly across the land, and rolling white mist, thick as a winter fog, enveloped every flickering flame, extinguishing them in its icy embrace. As the cold air claimed the earth, a host of slender, green figures began to appear and disappear in the swirling, icy mist on the ground.
A high elf ranger!? Zuluhed's jaw dropped. He was utterly flabbergasted! They actually let precious magicians waste large-scale war magic just to protect these elves? I have to hand it to them, that's a stroke of genius! No longer restricted by limited range and narrow cover, the elves' arrows suddenly gained a terrifying reach. This time, five more orc dragons were shot dead at a distance of about 150 meters from the ground.
"This is impossible!" Zuluhed shrieked, his voice cracking with disbelief. This wasn't just breaking the rules; this was throwing the rulebook out the window and setting it on fire! It completely defied any so-called common sense. It was no easy feat to use a fragile longbow to shoot a giant dragon performing evasive maneuvers at an altitude of 150 meters, let alone the orc cavalry perched on its back, who were practically invisible from the ground! What a terrifying and mysterious archery technique! It was utterly unimaginable what kind of being could have loosed such an arrow.
What flashed through Zuluhed's mind were hulking projectile monsters, stronger than ogres, capable of such impossible feats. If he had known that the real shooters were just two seemingly delicate blonde elf girls, he probably would have had a conniption fit. In any case, no Red Dragon Riders were stupid enough to get close to the ground now. The lowest Red Dragon was three hundred meters above the earth, practically in the clouds.
Zuluhed cursed angrily, a string of guttural orcish obscenities. He glared at the tribal transport ship, now tantalizingly close to slipping under the Thandol Bridge, and gritted his teeth. "Well, at least I escorted the transport ship over and completed the chief's mission… I guess."
It was as if the universe itself was mocking Zuluhed and his Dragonmaw Clan cavalry. At that precise moment, a pair of fearless humans burst from a bunker, sprinting towards a well-maintained catapult perched precariously on the cliff edge. They looked like they were going to use the catapult to finish off the transport ship in the strait, a final, humiliating blow.
Zuluhed was so furious, his lungs felt like they were about to explode. "Dive! Use dragon breath to burn those guys to ashes!"
"But… what about the elven rangers?" Every surviving Dragonmaw Orc cavalryman was still shaking in his boots. That flash of green had become an indelible shadow, a cold dread clinging to their hearts.
"Come here!" Zuluhed roared, casting a spell at the dragon closest to him. Suddenly, the orc felt a small tornado swirling around him, and his face lit up with a mixture of relief and pure joy. Wind Shield! A shaman's protective magic, a swirling barrier of natural power, capable of deflecting arrows like they were mere gnats.
The next moment, that orc, emboldened by the shield, charged. Not just him, but several other dragons, also blessed with the shimmering Wind Shield, spurred their red dragons into a dive-bombing run towards those audacious humans. For a red dragon, a distance of three hundred meters was just a matter of two breaths.
The emerald green flying arrow, like the Grim Reaper himself, had made an appointment and arrived right on time. As always, it aimed for the vital spot, but this time, it was stopped dead in its tracks, just moments before it could claim another orcish life. The weak wind shield, looking like it would break at any moment, held firm. The green arrow spun, tried to find a way in, but it simply couldn't penetrate. This time, the emerald Grim Reaper seemed to let out a helpless sigh.
"No!" Sylvanas shrieked, her voice laced with a raw, desperate frustration. Just moments ago, she had proudly used the Whisper of Wind to assure the crossbowmen of Stromgarde of their safety. "Under my divine arrows," she had declared, her voice ringing with conviction, "no dragon can hurt you!" She had said it, and she had meant it. But now, the opponent's shamanic magic had brutally shattered her pride. Sylvanas felt tears welling up in her eyes, on the verge of breaking down.
At that very moment, a blinding white light erupted…