Faced with the undead's tactic of sacrificing their own to pave the way and build bridges, the Quel'dorei could only stare in stunned disbelief, utterly helpless.
They were merely a band of rangers. Though each was highly skilled, they still had the limitations of rangers—there were neither heavy weapons nor mages among them. As a result, they had no way to destroy this "flesh-and-blood pontoon bridge" and could only watch helplessly as the Scourge rapidly crossed the natural barrier they had once relied upon.
Left with no choice, Sylvanas once again gave the order to retreat.
Rangers excelled at fighting in forests. To them, the forest was their greatest aid and cover, and with its help, they could often stand against enemies many times their number. But the undead were undoubtedly an exception.
With the undead, sheer quantity had become a qualitative change.
The previous battles had already proven that the guerrilla warfare the rangers excelled at was meaningless before the Scourge. Their traps and ambushes might kill a small number of undead, but before the vast Scourge, that was merely a drop in the ocean. Meanwhile, the Scourge could use their overwhelming numbers to conduct a carpet search, leaving the rangers nowhere to hide—just as the elves had hunted down the Trolls of Zul'Aman fifteen years ago.
Truly, the wheel of fate turned, and heaven spared no one.
Worse still, the undead army brought endless death and corruption wherever it passed. Nearly every forest it crossed withered beneath the influence of necromancy, becoming a land of death—the future Ghostlands.
Sylvanas was brave, but she was not foolish. Once she understood that she could not stop the enemy, she naturally would not allow her subordinates to make meaningless sacrifices.
Yet sometimes, even when one knew it was futile, sacrifice remained