Counterattack

Dezco Dawnstrider, the young chieftain of the Dawnstrider family, was wielding a gleaming golden warhammer, dancing amid the loose encirclement of Centaur fodder.

An'she's power surged through his body, becoming warm sunlight that healed the exhaustion of prolonged battle and sharp dawnlight that shattered the darkness of endless night. His heavy hammer swept up a golden storm, tearing apart every obstacle before him.

The Dawnstrider family had served as priests of An'she for generations.

Legend had it that in ancient times, a devout priest had cast himself into the splendor and brought the light of dawn to the land.

From that day on, whenever those who suffered oppression held kindness and courage in their hearts, An'she's light would shine within their souls.

One day, Dezco had seen that light as well. Back then, he had been too young to understand why An'she favored him so greatly, and that confusion had persisted until now. Yet it did not stop him from fighting bravely for his people.

He had fought bathed in blood, and there were already too many fallen enemies to count. Yet it brought him not a shred of glory or comfort.

Bang!

Another Centaur fell, but Dezco's heart grew heavier.

There was a wound on his cheek, but it had not been caused by carelessness.

Just moments ago, some kind of mutation had indeed emerged among these Centaur soldiers.

He had smashed half the head of a crazed Centaur grunt inward, yet that monster, which should have been thoroughly dead, had pounced on him again when he turned away and left him with this wound.

That dreadful madness left Dezco unable to calm himself for a long while.

After all, had he not transformed An'she's power into a blade and struck out with all his strength, he would have died because of it.

Before long, he discovered something even more unbelievable. Though they held a steady advantage in both numbers and combat ability, these enemies had somehow fought the Tauren warriors to a standstill.

The bright moon hung overhead. If his wound had not still been throbbing faintly, Dezco might have wondered whether he was still dreaming.

The Centaurs' attacks were clearly continuing to grow stronger, yet the scales of war had tilted slightly toward the Tauren!

How was that possible?

Dezco distractedly observed for a while and found that these Centaurs seemed to have entered some sort of berserk state.

After going berserk, they had abandoned what little tactical awareness they had left and become obsessed with fighting on their own.

Their command had utterly collapsed. Every one of them was immersed in slaughter, like merciless killing machines. Even Magatha Grimtotem repeatedly cutting down their commanders had failed to change anything.

Soldiers unafraid of death had always been rare, yet these ones were being spent as freely as cannon fodder.

Dezco had a bad feeling. Whoever was playing this game did not care about the outcome of the battle and was willing to pay any price.

If the one who started this war was not a madman, then he had to be a schemer, pursuing something far deadlier.

And Dezco believed that thing was worth far more than victory or defeat in this battle.

After cleanly knocking down the last Centaur, Dezco looked around and found that he had been passively separated from the main force by the rhythm of the Centaurs' assault.

The Centaurs' cannon-fodder tactic had worked—whether or not that had been their intention.

Driven by the simplest of purposes, opponents indulging in slaughter had become like a bottomless mire, dragging down the Tauren forces as a whole. The entire battlefield had fallen into a bizarre deadlock.

By chance, Dezco spotted Magatha Grimtotem some distance ahead. She had just fought her way out of an encirclement as well. The two warriors who had escaped the mire exchanged a glance, then charged toward each other.

"Lady Magatha!"

After joining up, Dezco briefly explained his thoughts to Magatha. As it happened, their ideas aligned perfectly.

Dezco gripped his warhammer tightly.

Uneasily, he said, "So I think this is probably far from a simple attack." Magatha wiped the blood from her cheek and nodded. "It is very good that you can recognize that. But right now, what we need is not clear understanding, but a way to break free from this situation."

"So, state your view, warrior! Your answer will be one of the reasons I judge whether you are fit for the task ahead!" She stared directly into the Sunwalker's eyes, her tone solemn.

Dezco scratched his head in distress and said, "They have already fallen into bloodthirsty madness. If our warriors are dragged into this mire as well, the situation will only become more passive. I think consolidating our forces may have become the only option."

Magatha shook her head. "Young man, you have made a very grave mistake. You have focused only on your opponents' posture while failing to see our own strength. You need to step outside this battlefield and look at the whole picture with a broader perspective."

Rather than growing angry at Magatha's criticism, Dezco eagerly asked, "Then you have a plan?"

Magatha showed a pitying expression and said helplessly, "It seems that, young chieftain, you still lack the necessary vision. I must admit, I am a little disappointed."

"Besides, do you truly think we are already at an absolute disadvantage?"

Dezco did not take issue with Magatha's mockery. Though still puzzled, he asked happily, "What do you mean?"

"Of course... have you ever considered counterattacking?"

Magatha revealed a bloodthirsty smile.

Dezco's eyes widened instantly. He had never considered that possibility!

The Centaurs were so powerful, far surpassing the Tauren.

Thus, he had always fought as a protector. Even if he shed his last drop of blood, he wanted to protect Bloodhoof Village and those he loved. There was nothing wrong with that, of course.

Yet despite giving everything he had, he had always felt that something was missing.

That subtle feeling had lingered in his heart until this moment, when he suddenly realized the fatal flaw—if he no longer held any hope of defeating his enemy, then how was that any different from resistance doomed to fail?

His struggles all this time had been utterly meaningless.

At that thought, Dezco was suddenly overwhelmed by shame, because he had cast aside his courage at the very beginning of this battle.

Seeing Dezco's ashamed expression, Magatha smiled in satisfaction. "It seems you have found what you forgot."

"You can be proud, because realizing this proves that you have already become the victor of this battle!"

Magatha's expression gradually turned solemn. She said earnestly to the young chieftain, "Remember the ancient wisdom, young man."

"Sometimes, strength and numbers are not everything that determines the outcome!"

"Look at our enemies. These damned beasts are like a plague ravaging this land, knowing only how to create slaughter."

"Recklessness blinds their eyes, arrogance makes them disregard cooperation, conceit makes them reject guidance, and stupidity... will bury their lives completely!"

"And us? Wisdom and cooperation, resilience and resistance, emotion and honor... these beautiful things bind us tightly together like ties. United as one, how could we lose to these mongrels who know only to worship strength?!"

Magatha shouted those words as though roaring in fury.

A change rippled across the battlefield. Dezco suddenly realized that the two of them stood on high ground. Looking around, he saw that the battle, which had been deadlocked just moments ago, had suddenly become orderly and clear.

Beyond their sight, Gudar Bristleman viciously drove a spear into the heart of a Centaur struggling on the ground. With a wave of her hand, she summoned several arrows, and the few restless Centaurs ahead fell in response.

"Sigh... the firing speed of a bow is still nowhere near enough. I really wish I had a better weapon, one that would let me experience the thrill of spitting thunder and enjoy the ultimate hunt!"

As the complaint rang out, Rune Bristleman emerged from the flank, accompanied by several skilled hunters. After joining Gudar, they formed an encirclement.

"Stop complaining. You are not young anymore, yet you have not even mastered the basics. And you still have the nerve to say that?" Gudar Bristleman mercilessly criticized the most restless young man of the Bristleman family.

Rune scratched his head and retorted unwillingly, "Hmph! I am just telling the truth! Bows and arrows seriously do not suit my tastes..."

"I really hope Master Aldo hears your 'truth' for himself. I think I should have a good talk with him after the battle." Gudar sneered, casually spearing another Centaur through.

"No! You are too cunning, always using that move!" Rune complained, but his bow fired again and again. Coordinating with the other hunters' crossfire, he rapidly harvested his opponents, and Centaurs fell in swaths like wheat before a scythe.

He had not yet met the dwarf hunter Hemet Nesingwary, whose name sounded so steeped in mathematics, much less become his close friend. But the spirit of the wild within him was already burning fiercely.

On the other side of the battlefield, Chieftain Eaglewind planted a totem and summoned a Water Elemental, condensing biting frost from thin air and instantly freezing the three enemies before her.

After doing all that, she was panting with exhaustion, supporting herself on her totem staff while the young man beside her held her tightly.

"Mother, you have already done too much for us. The horn of counterattack has sounded. We are enough here. Please retreat to the rear!"

Looking at his aged mother, Chieftain Eaglewind's son felt a pang of sorrow.

Centaurs knew nothing of respecting the old or cherishing the young. The ritual robes worn by this respected chieftain had long been torn to tatters, and blood constantly seeped from her forehead, staining her aged fur red.

The chieftain was very, very old, nearly old enough to be called Mother Eaglewind. She was no longer as strong and healthy as her son beside her, yet she stubbornly refused every plea for her to withdraw from the front lines.

"I am old, child. Forgive this old bag of bones for a little selfishness. Let me do a little more for you... just a little more..."

Magatha reverently planted a totem, and a clear Air Spirit was summoned forth.

A wave of joy drifted in on the solemn sound of the wind—the joy of the Air Spirit.

The Tauren's will to resist had stirred a resonance within the elements. They had long been active across the battlefield, standing alongside the Tauren warriors and resolutely fighting the culprits who had polluted the elements.

"Spirit of the wind, heed my voice. Turn my voice into a pure, clear breeze, and let it blow to every corner of this land!"

And so, the sound of the wind tore apart the night, and Magatha's hoarse yet unwavering voice rang beside every weary warrior's ear!

"Warriors! Raise your spears! The time for counterattack has come! Together, let us drive these filthy beasts from our homeland!"

The Tauren warriors brandished their spears and unleashed deafening battle cries, as though they would tear through the night sky itself.