The roar of a new round of artillery fire rang across the prairie. Shrapnel Shells exploded above the fleeing orcs, spraying iron pellets down like rain, while Solid Shots plowed through the dense crowds, each round capable of piercing the bodies of more than a dozen men.
Before the Orcish army could regroup, it was once again scattered by the Aldo Army's merciless firepower.
Accompanied by the pounding of drums, Aldo Army infantry advanced in orderly formation. They stopped every fifty paces to fire a Salvo Fire, and the crisp clacking of the Type 98 rifles rang out as bullets screamed away. Within a hundred paces, they rarely missed.
Any Orcish General who tried to gather troops and resist was immediately shot dead by several bullets the moment he revealed himself.
"Clear that depression!"
"Suppress those enemies gathering over there!"
"Maintain spacing in the center and advance steadily!"
Orders were passed down one after another. The Aldo Army rolled across the battlefield like a precision war machine, using absolute discipline and firepower to push chaos, fear, and death step by step toward the orcs' final position.
The banners of the Prairie Royal Tent fell one after another. The waves that had once blotted out the sky had now become heaps of mud. Many brave but desperate orc warriors charged alone at the Aldo Army's bayonets, simply seeking a clean death.
Under the Aldo Army's relentless pressure, the nearly one hundred thousand troops remaining under the Prairie Royal Tent finally collapsed completely.
Clearly, this hastily assembled army could not compare with Alba's earlier forces in discipline. They were not retreating—they were simply disintegrating.
Each tribe and clan fought for itself, even trampling one another. Some fled north, some east, while groups of warriors threw down their weapons, knelt in the mud,