Long before the Ultimate Battle Rats reached the battlefield, at the moment Huozi gave the order to shift from defense to offense, Onarom, chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan, had already begun to fidget.
He realized that he seemed to have made a potentially fatal mistake.
That was withdrawing the Frostwolf riders temporarily in order to reduce their losses, then ordering the tribe to remain where they were and rest for that quarter of an hour!
And he had severely underestimated the strength of this "army" before him. More importantly, although the war had not been going on for long, unexpected changes had arisen on the battlefield one after another, like waves rolling in with the tide.
At its root, it was because he seemed to know nothing at all about this "army" before him—one could even say he knew absolutely nothing.
Since the other side could suddenly produce a wave of "reinforcements," who knew whether even more surprises might appear afterward?
He now greatly doubted whether they truly were a force of the Silvermoon Federation. If they were, why had he never heard of them before?
Watching a battlefield whose Combat Strength had originally been utterly disproportionate descend into a stalemate, Onarom grew increasingly agitated.
If that damned Neriao were still in front of him, he believed he would chop him down without hesitation!
There could be no more surprises! This damned battle had to end swiftly!
Then they would take all the food and retreat at once!
There could be no more surprises!
Their Shadowmoon Clan could not afford to take any greater risks!
Just as Onarom made up his mind, he heard Drolu let out a roar like thunder.
"Orc?"
Onarom's brow furrowed slightly. When he saw the two wolf-fang pendants hanging around Drolu's neck, he answered with