"Disconnect from humans!"
Under the command of the Great Chieftain, the orc warriors retreated with a heavy heart, heading away from the Northwest Legion, though some were relieved.
Abar reined in his warhorse, his bronze face grim and iron-like.
He signaled for a retreat, but not a rout—the orc army withdrew like receding waves, yet maintained a relatively distinct formation, regrouping a kilometer and a half away. Only a small number of human Cannons could threaten them there, and even if they did, their shots would be inaccurate.
Battle flags fluttered and drums thundered; the orcs were still poised to attack.
"They are not retreating; they are stalling for time."
Paul narrowed his eyes. Whatever tactics the other side planned to use, as long as they didn't retreat, it suited his needs perfectly.
He immediately ordered the entire army to switch from a defensive hollow square formation back to an offensive line formation, preparing to advance in the direction the orcs were retreating.
The well-trained soldiers quickly changed formation, and the bayonet jungle transformed back into an ironclad defensive line. The artillery also took the opportunity to move the Cannons forward, their dark muzzles aimed directly at the main Orc force in the standoff.
Just then, a rapid blast of horns suddenly came from high above; this rhythm indicated an enemy attack.
Everyone looked up at the same time—and saw the sentry on the observation balloon waving signal flags frantically.
"Enemy attack! Enemy attack from the rear!" the staff officer exclaimed in alarm.
Paul whirled around, raised his binoculars, and was startled to see billowing dust in the distance—a large number of orc light cavalry were flanking Northwest Legion from both sides, the dust kicked up by their hooves obscuring the sky.
In the attack just now, the Orc Cavalry split into three parts: the first wave was horse archers, the second wave was heavy cavalry, and the third wave was the Orc light cavalry that had attacked the flanks of the Northwest Legion earlier.
Seeing that a frontal assault was not going well, and that the humans had deployed a tough, porcupine-like formation, their orc generals made a decisive move, using the cover of the battlefield smoke to complete a large-scale flanking maneuver. They waited for the humans to withstand the orcs' frontal attack and then change formation again before launching a surprise attack from the flanks and rear.
"My opinion of them has changed again…" Paul realized he still underestimated these barbarians.
The orc chieftain used a powerful cavalry charge to draw all attention, but his real killing move was this flanking force. Without the warning balloons, the Northwest Legion would have been caught off guard and attacked while adjusting their formation with their backs to the enemy; the consequences would have been unimaginable.
"All troops, turn around! Rear guards become front guards!" The order spread like lightning throughout the army.
The Northwest Legion once again demonstrated astonishing tactical prowess— the soldiers did not panic, but rather rotated as a unified whole, like precise gears. The front-line soldiers knelt on one knee to load, while the rear-line soldiers stood guard with their guns at the ready. Because they were familiar with the rhythm of the battlefield, the entire process was three times faster than their previous formation changes.
When the Orc light cavalry charged to within two hundred yards, they were met by half of the Cannons, who had already turned around, while the other half remained to guard the front of the Orc Cavalry.
"Fire!"
"Barrel volley—fire!"
The crackling of gunfire mingled with the deafening roar of cannons, and the charging cavalry front seemed to have crashed into an invisible wall. The first hundred men and their horses were instantly thrown to the ground, and the following cavalry, unable to slow down in time, tumbled and fell amidst the carnage of men and horses.
Meanwhile, the Northwest Legion's second volley was ready...
Abar watched from afar as his tactics were foiled, his fists clenching so tightly they cracked.
He stared at the damned observation balloon high in the sky. This war no longer seemed to be the kind of contest that the grassland warriors were familiar with.
Great Chieftain's chest heaved violently, his bronze face contorted with rage.
He stared intently at the monster high in the air—that damned, flying thing whose name he didn't know—like a mocking eye, coldly surveying the entire battlefield.
"It's all that damn thing's fault!" It seemed as if his cavalry could successfully launch a surprise attack from behind the humans 100% of the time, as long as there was no such thing.
He gritted his teeth, his rough fingers almost snapping the reins.
He felt instinctively uneasy the moment he first saw a human hot air balloon. If an eagle on the grasslands could spot a hare ten miles away, wouldn't this monster floating in the sky be able to see the movements of an entire army?
But he chose to ignore the unease. The shamans said it was just a human illusion, and Otasi also said that no magic could make something that big float in the air for a long time.
But now? That cloth bag is not only floating, but it has also exposed his tactics, causing his most elite cavalry to die in vain!
" Great Chieftain, the Tuk clan on the left flank is starting to riot!" The guard's anxious shout pulled him back to reality. Abar turned his head and saw that a clan cavalry formation had indeed broken down, and the warriors seemed to be getting agitated—these were the Tuk warriors, who were always known for their bravery!
Further away, the flanking light cavalry had fallen into chaos. The human cannons seemed to have eyes, specifically targeting the assembled troops. Those warriors who should have delivered the fatal blow from behind were now being mowed down like grass by the crossfire.
"Sound the bugle! Tell them to retreat!"
Abar forced out the order through gritted teeth: he had to reorganize his troops.
"Waaah—"
The deep, mournful sound of orc horns echoed across the battlefield, carrying with it resentment and anxiety. This was Abar's signal to retreat. Upon hearing the signal, the orc light cavalry, who had been attempting to outflank the humans, immediately turned their horses around and retreated into the distance like a receding tide.
" Lord Glaeman!" Earl Hal of the Sentinel Legion rode up, his silver-grey armor stained with orc blood—the cavalry hadn't been idle in the battle just now.
The Earl's eyes remained sharp as an eagle's. "Those retreating Orc Cavalry are now at their most vulnerable. Their situation is extremely dangerous—they are far from the main force, their morale is low, and their formation has become loose due to the failed raid. I request to lead the Watchers cavalry in pursuit. We must not let them retreat so easily!"
Chief of Staff Owen Schroeder nodded in agreement with his old friend, "That's right, our cavalry recruits also need real combat experience, so this is a good opportunity to let them see more blood."
Paul pondered for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield—the main orc force was still in the north, but their formation remained intact, while the light cavalry force on the south side, having failed in their flanking maneuver, was now isolated.
"Alright, let the cavalry attack!" he ordered in a deep voice. "But remember, don't stray too far from Cannon's cover. If any new orc troops appear, retreat immediately."
Hal Duke grinned, spurred his horse back to his troops, drew his longsword, and shouted, "Watchmen, charge with me!"
The Watchers' cavalry, who could no longer contain themselves, roared in unison, their horses neighing and their hooves thundering. This elite cavalry, rebuilt from the remnants of the original Watchers Fortress, harbored a deep-seated hatred for the orcs. Like arrows released from a bow, they charged straight at the retreating orc light cavalry.