Leiluosite's method was simple and effective: using the Orcs' frenzy to clear a path.
For every three Orcs sacrificed, the squad can advance a certain distance.
We're getting closer and closer to the Kobold chieftain.
The Lightforging Orcs' loyalty is beyond question, but Aserok looks down on them, considering them brainless idiots.
There's only one in a hundred Lightforging Orcs with even a modicum of intelligence, like Leiluosite.
Unfortunately, they lacked cunning.
To survive on the Battlefield, luck alone is not enough; you need to be quick-witted and cleverly get your comrades to take the blows for you.
Veterans often survive countless battles, not because of bravery or strength, but because of the accumulation of experience.
As the Orcs drew closer, the Kobold chieftain panicked and ran to the edge of the "raft," clutching the feathers on his head.
Once you jump into the Kobold group and discard your feathered hat and bone necklace, it's like a drop of water entering the ocean; it becomes difficult to find you again.
Perhaps unable to relinquish his high and mighty position, the Kobold chieftain hesitated.
On the Battlefield, hesitation means death.
The last three Orcs in the squad went berserk, covering Leiluosite's leap onto the high platform.
Upon seeing the approaching Orcs, their hideous faces right before him, the Kobold chieftain finally jumped down.
Unfortunately, he still couldn't bear to part with the feathered hat on his head; the bright feathers were like a bright lamp.
With a roar, Leiluosite leaped high into the air, wielding his Battle Axe in both hands, and slashed at a bright red figure among the Kobolds.
Blood splattered everywhere. Leiluosite laughed heartily, holding the head of the Kobold leader, before being engulfed by the endless Kobolds.
After their leader was killed, the Kobolds lost morale and scattered like the receding tide.
The Orcs were too exhausted to keep up. When Aserok counted the men, almost everyone was wounded, and more than half had been killed.
Although the Kobolds suffered heavy casualties, their reproduction rate is too fast, and they will probably be able to recover their numbers in just a few days.
The good news is that the Kobolds need to elect a new king, giving the Crossroads a brief respite.
Years of combat experience told Aserok that no miracle would happen, and that the Crossroads would inevitably be destroyed in the next battle.
At the Crossroads, the innkeeper, Bolande Caofeng, was wiping clean wine glasses when Aserok walked in, ordered a glass of wild boar liqueur, and slowly sipped it.
"Now is the best time to retreat, before the Kobolds choose a king," Bolande Caofeng said in a low voice, looking around to make sure no one was watching.
Aserok glanced at the burly Tauren, shook his head with a sneer:
My orders were to hold the Crossroads.
Bolande Caofeng picked up another clean wine glass, wiped it, and muttered:
"What's the point of holding out? The Crossroads aren't strategic locations; their gain or loss has no impact on the overall battle. It's like a burned-down fence—as long as the people are still alive, it can be rebuilt."
Aserok was displeased. "I am loyal to the Warchief; obeying orders is our duty."
Bolande Caofeng put down his wine glass and slowly said:
"Don't make it sound so nice. You're only loyal to your own ambition and desires: Wealth and Orcs beauties. If you disobey orders, you alone will be punished, but thousands at the Crossroads will be safe. Considering the actual situation, at most you'll be demoted, not killed. If you hold the Crossroads, thousands will die for your promotion."
"Absurd, cowardly Tauren, do you even know what responsibility and duty are?" Aserok slammed his fist on the table.
Bolande Caofeng looked up at him. "So-called responsibilities and obligations are like dust, forgotten by all."
Aserok declared loudly, "All the warriors who fell at the Crossroads will be remembered, but Imp like you will be forever etched on the monument of shame."
Bolande Caofeng chuckled dismissively, "Will my cousin be remembered?"
"Who is your cousin?" Aserok asked in surprise.
Bolande Caofeng laughed even more ironically:
"The Tauren who died today paved the way to victory with his life. How could you have forgotten him so quickly?"
Aserok was taken aback and had to exclaim, "Your cousin is a warrior!"
"Didn't you say you'd be remembered? Do you even know my cousin's name?"
Aserok was too engrossed in drinking to notice the names of the food.
Bolande Caofeng sighed and said, "My cousin has always been different from me. He has ideals and is determined to fight for Azeroth. At first, he believed in Thrall, then he was about to be eaten, but I saved him. Then he believed in Garrosh, and I saved him again. This time he believed in Chen Stormstout, but unfortunately, he can't escape his Destiny of being eaten, so I refused to help him."
Aserok said with good reason, "A true warrior will not be buried; didn't Leiluosite save him?"
Bolande Caofeng laughed heartily, "Leiluosite wouldn't be so kind; he just wants to sell his cousin's meat for a good price because it's delicious."
Aserok was speechless.
Bolande Caofeng said coldly, "I've been at the Crossroads for years, I've seen it all. Too many warriors have fallen here, and who remembers them? The living covet the merits of the dead, eager to claim military honors and embezzle meager pensions. Aserok, everyone here will die, only you will be safe. The merits of Leiluosite and my cousin will belong to you."
"Hmph, you don't understand the courage of Orcs."
Aserok stormed off.
A large group of Orcs had gathered at the entrance of the inn, staring longingly at Aserok.
A pretty female Orcs, holding two children, was Leiluosite's widow, kneeling on the ground pleading:
"Sir, please save the child!"
Aserok quickly helped the Orcs woman up and said loudly:
"Your husband was a warrior. It is because of the sacrifice of countless warriors that the Horde is so powerful and Azeroth has been saved."
"Sir, retreat! There's no point in holding out." A lame Veteran, tears streaming down his face, pleaded, "I can't go. I beg you on behalf of these young men."
Aserok's eyes widened, and he roared:
"My orders are to hold the Crossroads and fight to the last man. Do you dare disobey the orders of the Savior?"
The Savior was renowned, and even the lowly soldiers revered him as a god, daring not to have the slightest doubt.
Everyone remained silent, and Aserok declared confidently:
"Like you, I have families at the Crossroads, but the blood in my chest tells me that for the ideals and beliefs in our hearts, we must stand firm at the Crossroads and write the final chapter with our blood, for the Horde, for the Warchief."
"For the Horde! For the Warchief!"
The crowd shouted in unison, but their voices were weak and feeble.
Three days later, the Kobolds chose a new king.
The Kobolds learned their lesson, and the new king built a simple defensive fortification on the hillside.
Stone walls less than a person's height, rudimentary tunnels and traps—these became the Orcs' nightmare.
After the battle began, Aserok Rock intended to repeat his previous tactic and send his elite troops to assassinate the new Kobold king.
However, once Orcs go berserk, they lose their reason and fall into tunnels and traps.
Having lost several small squads in succession, Aserok knew that all was lost and led his confidants to retreat towards the Crossroads.
The innkeeper, Bolande Caofeng, was nowhere to be seen. Aserok led his men in a desperate retreat, fighting their way to the highest watchtower.
This watchtower, built of stone, was quite sturdy and became the last stronghold at the Crossroads.