The Centaur Chieftain's Might

As the centaur chieftain began leading the khans to spread out and direct the firefighting efforts, Rend knew the time had come. He split his forces into four groups, led respectively by himself, Malkorok, Vaur, and Zaela, attacking from four directions to encircle and annihilate the centaurs. Not a single one would be spared.

"Brothers, wipe out these centaurs, and this land will be ours! For our homeland, for the Horde!" At that moment, only one lyric echoed in Rend's heart: "With passion reaching the heavens, who can contend with me?" Charging into the enemy camp on horseback, leading more than twenty thousand orc warriors against an enemy force far larger than his own—this was a man's romance. A battlefield of countless troops and horses: even if you had an army of thousands, I alone... not to mention all these brothers at my side.

Rend ran at the very front, swinging Ashkandi. The panicked centaurs had never expected the orcs to ambush them. They had dominated Durotar for too long, believing themselves invincible here, and the fire had drawn away their attention.

It would have been great if he had elite wolf riders like the Warsong. Cavalry was undoubtedly better suited for storming a camp; infantry simply could not match their impact. A cavalry charge could tear apart an incomplete battle line at will. Unlike now, Rend had to personally break through their lines bit by bit. The efficiency was far too low.

One grew in battle. Without heaven-sent talent, one could not merely theorize on paper. Only battle could improve a warrior. A hundred battles forged elite soldiers, and constant warfare could also forge outstanding commanders.

The direction Rend chose was where aerial scouting had confirmed the centaur chieftain to be. He had no intention of leaving such a worthy opponent to his subordinates. King against king, general against general; the other three groups could deal with the centaur khans.

Rend continued to press forward and finally caught sight of the centaur chieftain. Laughing heartily, he charged straight at him.

The centaur chieftain saw Rend as well. He understood that Rend had to be the commander of this force, and killing him would surely be the best choice. His four hooves thundered as he charged toward Rend.

Thus, one orc and one centaur, the two leaders of their armies, prepared to decide who would emerge victorious.

Ashkandi collided with the centaur chieftain's great axe. Ashkandi, which had always shattered everything in its path, failed to destroy this weapon. It seemed to be an epic-grade weapon as well. Though inferior to Ashkandi, it meant Rend could no longer simply use his weapon to bully his opponent.

Rend struck first. His long-distance charge gave him greater momentum, but the centaur chieftain was stronger than he was. Though orcs were a naturally warlike race, they did not possess an advantage in raw strength over the four great mortal races—the Tauren, centaurs, ogres, and Vrykul. The centaur's four hooves provided a stable foundation. In their first clash, Rend gained no advantage; the centaur chieftain's strength and four-hooved stance neutralized all of Rend's momentum.

The two began their true exchange. Ashkandi and the great axe clashed again and again, a pure contest of strength. Rend was at a disadvantage. He had underestimated the centaurs' power, while his previous enemies had been too weak. They had rarely encountered foes who could match them, much less surpass them.

Rend's thick arms bore the centaur's strength transmitted through Ashkandi. Under the repeated collisions of such tremendous force, his arms began to ache first. If they continued trading blows like this, he would certainly lose.

This could not continue. Rend recalled Eitrigg's guidance aboard the ship. He had once said: Why could the smaller orcs defeat the ogres and Gronn who ruled Outland? Why were orcs called a race of warriors rather than those races with greater strength? Because brute force alone was not the most important thing in battle. If raw strength were all that mattered, the ogres would have enslaved every orc long ago. Orcs best fit the standard of a perfect warrior. Bodies that were too massive restricted speed, which was why those four races rarely produced rogues. Orcs possessed great strength, agile speed, and astonishing willpower within an ideal physique. Their balanced perfection was why they were called a warrior race. If an ogre had 100 strength and 30 agility, then an orc had 90 in both strength and agility. And orcs possessed the strongest will of all. The finest example was Grommash Hellscream. His will was truly as unyielding as steel, allowing him to defeat enemies stronger than himself again and again in desperate situations.

Rend's will was not so steadfast. Forget being as unyielding as Grommash's—even the former Rend Blackhand had possessed greater resolve than him. After all, the soul in control was another one, a soul that had never experienced war and had merely enjoyed prosperity in an age of peace.

Knowing his weakness, Rend chose to use agility to circle around the centaur chieftain. I may be weaker than you, but your huge body is nowhere near as nimble as mine.

Everyone knew that four-legged animals had great difficulty turning around, so Rend kept circling behind the centaur chieftain. While avoiding direct clashes from the front, he repeatedly used Ashkandi to carve wounds into the centaur chieftain's hindquarters. None were serious injuries, but blood continued to seep from the cuts where veins had been sliced. If this continued, the centaur would be unable to hit Rend, while Rend could keep leaving wounds on him. Blood loss would steadily weaken him.

The centaur chieftain, already beginning to weaken, was furious. This crafty bug did not dare confront him head-on, instead constantly attacking his body from behind and letting his noble blood spill away. He did not want to be defeated in such a stifling manner.

Rend eagerly continued his bloodletting campaign, but then noticed that the centaur chieftain's body was growing larger and his skin was turning red. It was rage, similar to the Bloodlust cast by orc shamans.

Rend recognized the skill possessed by most savage creatures. When near death, they would become enraged, gaining comprehensive improvements in every aspect.

The transformed centaur chieftain spun around rapidly and swung his axe at Rend's head. The centaur chieftain sneered. He would split open the brain of this irritating black-skinned bug, smear his brains over his own body, and use his shattered skull as a fine decoration.

Facing a massive threat to his life, Rend could only swiftly raise Ashkandi over his head to block the attack that would take his life if it landed.

But the battle-hardened centaur chieftain changed his chop into a sweeping strike, sending Rend and his sword flying several meters away. He crashed through many wooden stakes before a centaur dwelling finally absorbed the force of the impact, though it too collapsed under the tremendous blow. A wooden beam pinned Rend beneath it. The centaur chieftain's attack had jolted every one of his internal organs. If not for the robust orc body he had inherited from Rend Blackhand, that strike would have killed him.

His entire body burned, and a mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips. This was the worst injury Rend had suffered across both his lives. It felt as though he had been struck head-on and sent flying by a speeding car.