The storm hadn't yet subsided, and the heavily armored Alliance knights, led by Gavinrad, launched several assaults on the orc camp.
The orcs' resistance remained fierce, reminding Gavinrad of the First Orc War when he encountered them in the Dark Swamp. The orc soldiers, fearless of death, continued their assault on the knights, trampling over fallen soldiers as they fell.
The proportional number of casualties weighed heavily on Gavinrad. After smashing an orc's head with his warhammer, his horse halted. He looked at the blood-stained mud on the ground, removed his helmet, and let the rain wash over his resolute face.
"How long until the reinforcements arrive?" Gavinrad asked the messenger beside him.
"Sir, less than half an hour."
Half an hour was enough to organize an attack. Gavinrad didn't want his knights to continue a frontal assault. To create more space for his rear forces, he needed to consolidate his strength, transforming the knights into a sharp sword to pierce deep into the Horde's camp.
"Gather our knights, prepare for one last assault!"
A resounding horn blared, and the knights mounted their horses, retreating from the Horde camp. They regrouped their remaining troops, following behind their leader Gavinrad.
"Charge!" Gavinrad shouted.
Nearly a thousand knights, with overwhelming force, plunged into the orc camp.
The orcish Horde's camp in Hinterlands was vast enough that, despite the human knights' powerful charge, their strength diminished with each step forward. This was orcish camp; intrusion would come at a price.
Orgrim saw the human knights charging their camp, but his face showed no panic. Aside from his usual seriousness, there was even a hint of excitement.
Two orcs stood before him, one named Varok Saurfang, the other Dal'rend Blackhand.
"Lothar, whom we defeated, is now the Supreme Commander of the Alliance, and he's eager for a decisive battle with us. What are your thoughts?" Orgrim asked.
Dal'rend, always hot-tempered, gripped his black battle axe tightly and said menacingly, "Crush them! These fragile ants need to be taught a lesson with blood."
"Wait, Chieftain Dal'rend, you're being too aggressive. We're less than half our current strength; a decisive battle is the worst option." Saurfang retorted.
Dal'rend angrily said, "Since we landed at Southshore, you've been avoiding battle. We are the Horde; battle is our law of survival, our only creed!"
Saurfang, also a warrior, sensed the insult to his honor in Dal'rend's words. He raised his voice, saying, "Boy, don't you understand? This is a battle between two tribes. This isn't Draenor. Don't try to resolve the current battle by settling clan conflicts! Nearly half of our forces have been deployed. Apart from 30% following the trolls north, the rest are seizing resources in this land. So, we need to find another way to resolve this crisis!"
Dal'rend backed down, knowing his ideas were no match for this battle-hardened orc. He chose silence. Orgrim wasn't Blackhand; he possessed Blackhand's honor, but also wisdom that Blackhand lacked. He accepted Saurfang's suggestion: "What should we do, Saurfang?"
"Spend some forces to raid Aerie Peak!" Saurfang pointed to the northern mountains.
"This rain isn't suitable for our mountain warfare," Orgrim said with concern.
Saurfang shook his head: "Warchief, quite the opposite. Gryphon riders are far less formidable in the rain than before."
"I'll lead the soldiers on the attack," Dal'rend said eagerly, wanting to prove himself. Orgrim nodded, approving this extra attack plan.
After Dal'rend Blackhand led twenty percent of the camp's soldiers away, Orgrim, Doomhammer in hand, walked to the front lines. Saurfang followed closely behind him.
"Saurfang, I ordered you to find Go'el, and what happened?" Orgrim's face showed more worry; he valued this young orc highly.
Saurfang recalled the incident, his tone tinged with sorrow. He calmly said, "Since Durotan's death, there has been no news of the child. He may have perished in the war."
Orgrim sighed, his unfocused gaze sharpening. "Keep searching! Find his child!"
Orgrim moved quickly, reaching the Alliance knights' charging line. Like the orc soldiers, he raised his warhammer and joined the battle.
East of the orcish camp.
Leylin and Khadgar had just escaped danger, temporarily stranded at the rear of the camp due to the warlock group. Though they did kill quite a few of the warlocks, there were still quite a lot left since Gul'dan managed to mitigate their attacks.
However, their journey here wasn't without its rewards. Leylin's excellent reconnaissance allowed him to sense a large group of orc soldiers advancing towards the northern mountains.
That was Aerie Peak; the orcs had chosen this moment to launch a close-range attack.
Leylin's quick thinking immediately understood why the orcs were doing this. The Horde wanted to tie down the Alliance forces and force Commander Lothar to fight on two fronts.
"You seem to have figured it out?" Khadgar asked, looking at the composed Leylin.
"The Horde plans to attack Aerie Peak to distract the Alliance's forces. It seems Commander Lothar's attack is going to be shelved again." Leylin said.
Khadgar was still somewhat confused. He continued, "Is the Horde lacking confidence in the strength of their own camp? Avoiding battle like this isn't their style."
"You should know the Horde's fighting strength better than I do. If they were to truly fight us, our chances of winning aren't high." Leylin analyzed.
Khadgar nodded, agreeing with Leylin's assessment.
"I understand. They want to wear us down. This attack on Aerie Peak is meant to demoralize our soldiers, because they know Sir Lothar wouldn't abandon his allies."
"That's right, the Horde is clever. They've also taken advantage of the supernatural spells above our heads." Leylin said, pointing to the sky.
Gazing north at Aerie Peak, Khadgar pondered for a moment and said, "Compared to the main battlefield, I think we should go to Aerie Peak and assist the dwarves."
Leylin's eyes narrowed as he assessed the grim situation. "Yes, that's the best way," he acknowledged, his voice tinged with resolve. "However, if we do that, we'll lose the initiative on the main battlefield once again."
He understood all too well the stakes—the Alliance's window of opportunity was shrinking rapidly.
The battle had reached a critical juncture. If they retreated now, they might preserve their forces, but it would allow the orcish Horde to gain ground unopposed.
Within three months, the relentless march of the orcs would see them crossing the Hinterlands and spilling into northern Lordaeron, threatening the entire realm.
Leylin knew that other methods might still exist—hidden strategies, clandestine alliances, or powerful magic.
But time was their enemy. Every moment they delayed, the Horde grew stronger, their shadow stretching further across the land.