Just as the Great Chieftain and the general had predicted, the defensive line on Wolf Ridge Mountain still could not hold back the surging tide of Aberrants pouring in from the wasteland. When overwhelming volleys of corrosive energy arrows and countless mutated creatures utterly unafraid of blades charged at the positions from the mountain paths, even the bravest Highland Warriors and Champion Warriors had no choice but to fight as they retreated, surrendering the ground beneath their feet.
The tribal warriors did not lack courage or combat wisdom, but they lacked sufficiently refined weapons, sufficient soldiers, adequately prepared positions—and, more importantly, reinforcements. Their only advantage was Wolf Ridge Mountain's terrain, which was easy to defend and difficult to assault. Yet before an enemy that never tired and possessed endless numbers, even that sole advantage would soon be exhausted.
In truth, it was not only Morak and Camilla. Many commanders in the tribal army had long known that this would be the outcome: several breaches had appeared in the Great Wall, and pressure from the wasteland was unceasing. The tribal warriors had failed to stop those monsters on the eastern foothills of the Mountain Barrier, so they could not possibly hold off these enemies, whose numbers only grew with every battle, anywhere else. Unless the breaches in the Great Wall were sealed, the course of this war had been decided on the day the Mountain Barrier fell.
But even so, the tribal warriors would still choose to keep fighting, all the way until the day their entire army was wiped out—such stubbornness was carved into the bones of the orcs. Since ancient times, they had never been a race that could be beaten down by despair. An invincible enemy would not make them bow their heads; they would only choose to