Kalem stumbled over to Alba, still bearing wounds and panting as he shouted, "Great Chieftain! It's no good! If this keeps up, the army is going to fall apart!"
Alba swept his gaze across the battlefield, where the Orcish Cavalry, who had possessed such soaring momentum before the battle began, were already showing signs of a rout. Some riders, seeing their comrades constantly fall, quietly turned their horses around and retreated, while others fled aimlessly across the prairie under the pursuit of Aldo Army bullets. Their losing momentum was now irreversible, and to keep fighting head-on would only make him lose control of the remaining soldiers.
"Retreat! Order a retreat!" Alba suddenly raised his battle-axe and roared toward the Orc ranks, his voice filled with fury and helplessness.
This command exhausted almost all his strength. He could no longer remember how many times this was that he had issued an order to retreat when facing the Aldo Army. From Aldo to the present prairie, every single engagement with the Aldo Army under Paul Greiman's command seemed to ultimately escape no other end than retreat.
The retreat horn sounded from within the Orc ranks. This horn lacked the fierce agitation of the charge, carrying instead a trace of desolation.
The Orcish Cavalry currently fighting turned their horses around one after another upon hearing the horn, retreating toward the depths of the prairie. Some riders still did not forget to haul up their injured comrades. Although discipline was broadly maintained, the atmosphere was entirely different from the momentum of the charge.
Alba's face was so black it could drip ink. He fiercely stabbed his battle-axe into the ground, kicking up a patch of dust.
"Greiman..." He ground his teeth as he spoke the name, a flash of ruthlessness crossing his eyes. *This