Azshara's Great Retreat

Andy looked at his status panel. A 0.2 had been added to his attributes, and he couldn't help muttering, "Killing an Orc can earn me points?"

"Of course!" The Monster Spirit seemed to have given up explaining its technicalities to Andy. There was no guarantee he'd understand anyway.

"Didn't you say only items from this world could increase my attributes?" Andy asked in confusion.

"Ugh..." If the Monster Spirit had a physical body, he probably would have fainted by now. "That Orc died. You understand? You killed him, so now he's a corpse. Corpses count as items from this world! And it's not just Orcs. The corpses of any creatures in this world can increase your attributes, as long as they have attributes!"

Andy put on a look of sudden realization, all the while keeping his hands busy. Arrows flew from his bow one after another. Standing behind the main body of Elven troops, he focused on the slower Orcs. It usually took only two or three arrows to finish one off. Although killing an Orc Warrior only added 0.2 to his attributes, even a tiny bit was still worth having!

The Orc shield-bearers at the front ran swiftly, rapidly closing in on the Elves' front-line fighters. The archers' commander no longer dared to give the order to fire. The enemy was too close to their own ranks; it was no longer suitable to shoot in a high arc.

The towering Orcs charged onto the Elves' position with their shields raised, roaring as they quickly tangled with the Warriors. The Ogres, more than three meters tall, were even more unrestrained. Their long arms and legs swept back and forth, and any Elf Warrior they struck was either killed or badly wounded.

"Level shots! Fire at will!" the archers' commander shouted. Hundreds of arrows, like a swarm of locusts, buried themselves in the Orc Warriors charging toward them.

Andy had also retreated from behind the Elf Warriors to the archers' formation. He was only a man who knew how to use a bow, and he had no desire to die too soon. Even as he fell back, he kept shooting, each arrow claiming the life of another unfortunate Orc. He had also come back to the archers because he was running low on arrows, and there were bundles of them at the edge of the formation.

Once the armies of the two races clashed, Azshara Beach swiftly became a muddy slaughterhouse. Limbs flew everywhere, and the dark red blood of the Orcs mingled with the faintly purplish blood of the Elves. For a time, the beach resounded with the cries of battle.

Tyrande stood beside Andona, watching the battlefield. Several of Andona's subordinates had already led their Warriors into the fighting. Behind the lines, only Andona's personal guard and the archers remained. Tyrande looked grim. Although the Elves outnumbered their foes, they were not gaining the upper hand. The Orcs stood over two meters tall on average, their bodies knotted with muscle and clad in nothing more than simple leather armor. Some even fought bare-chested. Their powerful physiques were a testament to the Orcs' ferocity.

An Orc Warrior carrying a huge shield was charging recklessly through the ranks. The shield he held in both hands was shaped like a beast's head, with two long, sharp tusks jutting from its mouth. He thrust it to the side, and the tusks pierced straight through an Elf Warrior's body before tossing him high into the air. The Elf's blood sprayed over the Orc's face and head, driving his savagery to its peak.

Andy took aim. An arrow glowing green pierced the Orc's throat, ending his rampage. It was Andy's most-used skill, Serpent Sting.

Andona was frowning too, his gloomy expression making his displeasure clear. These Elf Warriors had been handpicked from among all the Elf forces; their combat skills and physical abilities were first-rate. How could they be so helpless? What he failed to consider was that, though his troops were elite, the Elves had enjoyed peace for too long. These Warriors had never seen a battlefield!

How could soldiers who had never seen blood become powerful Warriors?

With the Orc Warriors and Ogres fighting together, the enemy was all the more formidable. Before long, the fighting on the beach had turned into a one-sided rout.

"This won't do!" Tyrande said. "Our losses are too high. We can't afford to keep fighting like this."

Andona knew that as well, but what could he do? He glanced at Tyrande and sighed helplessly. The Elf Warriors at the front were already showing signs of retreating. He waved his hand, and the large squad of bodyguards behind him drew their weapons and charged forward with a shout. The old general's facial muscles twitched slightly. If this still wasn't enough, he might have to throw his own old bones into the fight!

Tyrande raised a hand, and the owl landed on her arm. She murmured a brief incantation, and a cool radiance washed over the owl. In an instant, it spread its wings and soared into the sky, transforming into a giant bird with a wingspan of over two meters. With a shriek, it dove toward the Orcs below.

Andy glanced over and thought, Well, looks like Tyrande's going all out too!

Tyrande slung her bow over her back and crossed her hands before her chest, lowering her head as she silently chanted something. At first, her voice was faint. A moment later, it grew louder and louder, until it rang across the entire beach.

A breeze stirred over the beach, but in the blink of an eye it became a raging gale, so strong that no one could keep their eyes open.

"What's going on?" Orgrim roared. His Warriors had the enemy pinned down. Why had a gale suddenly risen at such a crucial moment?

"Chieftain, this looks like the enemy's spell!" one of Orgrim's deputies shouted as he fought his way through the wind to Orgrim's side.

Orgrim stamped his foot. He was about to turn and tell his Shamans to cast a spell to stop the gale. He had barely taken a few steps when, out on the sea behind them, a huge pillar of white light shot straight down into the water, flecked with golden sparks.

The Orc ships caught in the beam or struck by it shattered into pieces, their wreckage scattering across the sea as splinters. Orgrimmar stared in shock at what was happening on the water, nearly forgetting what he had meant to do. After remaining still for a few seconds, the beam seemed to turn into a giant staff, churning the sea. A massive waterspout climbed higher and higher along the pillar of light, reaching straight into the sky!

"What kind of spell is that?" Orgrim murmured, but no one answered him. Everyone stood frozen, staring at the spectacle unfolding on the water.

The waterspout rose to its highest point. Suddenly, the pillar of light withdrew all its power, and the water crashed back into the sea. A wave over ten meters high formed and surged toward the beach, sweeping toward the Orc army with overwhelming force. At the same time, Tyrande's arms were spread wide. Her eyes were veiled in gray mist, and large beads of sweat fell to the ground.

Andy watched it all, narrowing his eyes as he glanced at Tyrande. Good grief, she really is going all out. What a spectacle!

Orgrimmar snapped out of his stupor and shouted toward the rear, "Quick! Get the Shamans!"

The Shamans behind the troops needed no telling. Two had already split off to keep controlling the Ogres, while the remaining dozen turned and began chanting. The waves kept rising, and had already surged onto the beach. The Orcs trailing at the rear of the army cried out as the water swallowed them. The Orc Shamans danced and chanted loudly. The sand in front of them began to bulge, and at last, before the wave could reach them, a tall sand wall rose up, holding it back. The waves continued to climb, and the sand wall, shimmering with a hazy yellow light, rose inch by inch.

It was a desperate clash between the two races' magical powers: Tyrande alone against ten enemy Shamans!

Tyrande's sweat poured faster and faster. The Shamans on the other side were suffering too; all ten had flushed faces, and two of the weaker ones had already begun coughing up blood. The two Shamans who had been controlling the Ogres exchanged a glance, followed the fluctuations of magic to locate Tyrande, and one of them shouted, "Destroy everything—lightning!" The other raised his hands alongside him, and in an instant, a swirling mass of dark clouds formed above Tyrande.

A flash of lightning streaked through the clouds, followed by a much thicker bolt that struck toward Tyrande's head!

"Look out!" Andy realized what was happening, but it was too late. The lightning had already formed, and he was too far away to reach her in time.

The bolt struck in an instant, erupting in a blinding flash. Andy stared wide-mouthed at the place it hit, ignoring the dazzling light as an indescribable feeling spread through him. Hilar was already crying uncontrollably. No one could have imagined that Tyrande would be ambushed while casting a spell.

After the blinding flash, the lightning continued to crackle. The bolt, which had already begun to press downward, was gradually lifted by someone. In his desperation, Andona, the old Elf general who had stood beside Tyrande all along, had grabbed a huge shield and blocked the deadly strike for her.

Andy rushed over and grabbed the giant shield with both hands. Andona collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. His hair was singed, filling the air with a pungent burnt smell. His hands were covered in blood and still trembling.

Tyrande suddenly came to her senses and stopped casting. The giant wave, which had grown thirty or forty meters tall, lost its support, and all the seawater came crashing down from the sky before flowing back into the sea across the beach. The massive sand wall collapsed too, sending sand flying everywhere. Of the ten Shamans who had cast the spell, six had fallen to the ground, all of them ashen-faced, vomiting blood, and unconscious.

A trickle of blood ran from the corner of Tyrande's mouth. She looked at Andona, sprawled on the ground, her eyes full of remorse. At last, she reluctantly said to the messenger, "Sound the retreat!"

The horns sounded. Under the cover of the still-raging wind and the archers, the surviving Elf Warriors retreated toward Ashenvale, supporting one another. Tyrande watched them withdraw, her expression a jumble of emotions: unwillingness, anger, and relief.

Orgrim looked through the wall of wind at the retreating Elves. He did not order his troops to pursue them; he wanted to preserve more of the Horde's people. Since the enemy had withdrawn, he would let them go. After all, he had only come to find a place where his people could survive.

As Andy withdrew, he glanced at Orgrim on the beach. Orgrim saw him too. Noticing someone staring at him, Orgrim spotted a fellow with long, pointed ears. He raised the Doomhammer in his hand, and all the Horde Warriors behind him roared, proclaiming their victory in the battle!