Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was shattered morale.
When a unit of human cavalry charged through, they had not even reached attack range.
Lich Fang's infantry formation collapsed outright. They could no longer organize any effective defense.
Charles then led a large cavalry force in for the kill.
At first, he had thought the enemy's rout was a feint, a lure.
But once he arrived, he discovered it was real.
These newly recruited orcs—even those who had received training before—possessed usable combat skills, but their mental fortitude was lacking.
Especially after the constant deaths, the constant attacks.
Ever since the beginning, they had been continuously harassed by Charles. Counting the days, it had been nearly ten days.
Over such a long span, the vast majority of the orc soldiers had received no proper rest.
Body and mind exhausted, their morale had steadily declined. One spark was enough to send the entire army scattering.
An army's strength came from the collective, not the individual.
Even if an individual still had strength left, it meant little before the collective.
Once the orcs broke and fled, Charles's cavalry began an undisguised slaughter.
With bows, sabers, and lances, they attacked the orcs from behind.
Infantry without formation was practically a meal laid out before cavalry.
"Come on!"
"Come fight me!!"
Lich Fang roared.
Only a few dozen personal guards remained at his side. The other orcs had already begun to flee.
Under such circumstances, even the supervising troops had run.
The orc soldiers were like a collapsing snow mountain. Anyone trying to stop them risked being crushed beneath their stampede.
Lich Fang could not accept such an outcome. He did not want to flee, because he knew he could not escape anyway.
The enemy would not let him go.
He even wanted to