The Choice

Winter mornings are always harder to endure than the nights. The camp in Lordaeron was silent, and among the many crude barracks, squads of soldiers on duty remained steadfast at their patrol posts. The sound of heavy footsteps and the clashing of metal armor carried far into the thin morning mist.

In the small fortress at the center of the camp, inside the second-floor hall used for daily meetings, the fire in the large hearth had long since dimmed, leaving only sparse sparks in the nearly extinguished embers. The pungent odor of burning wood that once filled the hall was now barely perceptible, and the intrusive chill constantly eroded the warmth of the room.

Feeling the temperature drop, the young commander, his eyes bloodshot, wrapped his blanket tighter around himself and shivered involuntarily. Maxwell Dala, having worked through the night, let out a yawn and sank his body deep into the soft cushions, beginning to reorganize the results of the night's work in his mind.

It had been about half a month since the first battle, when the Lordaeron army officially launched an offensive against the valley where Zul'Aman was located, capturing the enemy's temporary warlord at the cost of a large number of Gnoll cannon fodder and a third of their catapults.

Three days after that victory, before the logistics escort squad of five hundred mid-tier warriors sent by the command to Northland Fortress had even officially reached their posts, the leader of the Mossflayer Trolls led over a thousand of his elite warriors in a night raid on the supply transport team.

As a qualified field commander, Maxwell certainly would not have relaxed the protection of the rear supplies. However, in a surprise attack where the numbers were equal and the enemy held the advantage of the terrain, the soldiers of Lordaeron suffered a heavy loss.

Even though all the human soldiers fought desperately and refused to retreat, they still could not protect all the supplies against the martial prowess of the Troll elite. According to the statistics after the battle, although the Troll raid did not achieve all its goals, it destroyed at least one-third of the supplies. If Alvin had not sent out his only personally commanded guard unit in advance, the situation might have been even worse.

However, there was some good news: the high-explosive bombs produced by the Goblins shone brightly in this counter-ambush battle—hundreds of Troll warriors were left permanently on the battlefield by the blades of Lordaeron's soldiers and the engineering products from the Steamwheedle Cartel.

In addition, a large number of Mossflayer Trolls were injured by the explosions and flames caused by those inconspicuous little things. It was said that the leader of this squad, Kalekin, was also injured by a bomb that blossomed on his face due to his arrogance, and he was carried off the battlefield by other Troll warriors.

Judging from the current situation, at least for a short time, these wounded roaming in the forest would not be able to strike at the supplies again, now that the logistics escort had been reinforced. Archbishop Faol, who was overseeing the supply dispatch at Northland Fortress, also sent an additional batch of supplies after the battle, and the shortage of food and clothing that the command feared did not materialize; a potential crisis was nipped in the bud.

After that, Maxwell decisively increased the investment in the front line. Although a large number of Gnoll cannon fodder from the Redpine and Mudsnout clans were consumed, and the human soldiers of Lordaeron suffered a small number of casualties, the suddenly intensified war caused even greater casualties to the Mossflayer Trolls, who were trapped in Zul'Aman and had lost their original commander.

In front of the huge valley, that long ramp had long since become pitted and scarred, becoming a veritable road of blood. Warriors from three different races were thrown into this giant meat grinder, their hot blood staining the dust-covered hillside a glaring black-red.

Every sunny day, earth-shaking shouts would ring out in this forest. The wails of Gnolls, the roars of Trolls, and the shouts of humans formed a mournful war song on this blood-stained battlefield, echoing over the forest like a dirge for the dead, accompanying every warrior in the heat of battle and witnessing every moment of life and death on the field.

However, the problem that gave this seasoned commander a headache now was not the escalating war or the increase in casualties. The total number of human soldiers lost from the beginning of this war to now did not even compare to the number of people killed or injured annually in Darrowmere Forest due to roaming Gnolls and raiding Trolls.

In the intense fighting, the large number of Gnoll cannon fodder, as Prince Alvin had wished, became a heavy chip placed by the Kingdom of Lordaeron on the scales of victory, exerting a great influence on the situation of the war—

To the cautious human upper echelons, a significant reduction in casualties was a tremendous achievement; to the ordinary human soldiers, a substantial increase in their survival rate on the battlefield was a matter of immediate personal interest. As for the Gnoll warriors who paved the way for the Kingdom of Lordaeron with their lives, most people would only silently say a word of thanks in their hearts, continuing to use force and temptation to send these two-legged beasts to die on the battlefield.

Seeing that after a great deal of slaughter and fighting, the defensive strength of Zul'Aman was becoming weaker and weaker. The coalition of Gnoll warriors and human soldiers, which at first could only be driven back from the hillside every time, had been able to attack the defensive ramparts at the mouth of the valley in recent days, and the situation was looking very good.

Although one Mossflayer Troll after another used their bodies to block the kingdom's blade regardless of their own lives, as long as they persisted for a while longer, the powerful force of the Kingdom of Lordaeron would eventually shatter those Trolls' delusions—if only there were a little more time!

The young commander could almost see victory beckoning to him not far away, but at this critical juncture, an urgent military report from Northland Fortress sent this warrior, who was famous in the Darrowmere region, falling from heaven to the bottom of the valley.

Stormwind City in the south had fallen, and Anduin Lothar, the last bloodline of Emperor Thoradin, was bringing the surviving Prince Varian Wrynn of the Kingdom of Stormwind and a large number of refugees north by ship, passing through Menethil Harbor and about to land in the Southlands.

The continent of Lordaeron was about to welcome a group of savage and bloodthirsty alien enemies. The kingdom's upper echelons, needing to make arrangements for the impending Orc threat, issued an ultimatum to this army still gathered at Zul'Aman and bickering with the Mossflayer Trolls—end this war as soon as possible!

Continuing to increase investment and forcibly raising the intensity of the war meant that the lads of Lordaeron would have to face more casualties. However, what worried Maxwell even more was that the Gnoll warriors, who were being pushed to the limit, might not be able to endure it and would revolt. This might not cause much damage to the heavily guarded troops, but the lack of cannon fodder and the morale that would be lost as a result could change the course of the entire war, or even shift the weight of the scales of war.

Now, this commander was caught in a dilemma—gamble with the lives of those young men, or simply stop this war that might not be resolved in the short term?