The Frostwolf's Predicament

Deep within the frigid Alterac Mountains, Drek'Thar, chieftain of the Frostwolf Orcs, tightened the fur coat around himself. The bitter wind howled outside, while only a few pieces of wood burned in the brazier indoors.

The weak flames could not drive away the chill borne by the gale. Even an Orc's powerful physique made him shudder instinctively. The aging Orc seer stared at the crude hide map on the table with clouded eyes, shaking his head again and again.

Blue arrows representing the Stormpike Dwarf Clan stretched steadily downward from the top of the map. The Dwarf ram cavalry that had set out from Dun Baldar had bypassed the Orc forces' scouts and sentries from the side of Snowfall Graveyard. They had emerged directly behind Iceblood Garrison, causing the Frostwolf Orcs' hard-maintained defensive line to collapse in an instant.

The Dwarf soldiers on the front line charged at the same time. Those troublesome, stubborn little short-legs rode their rams swiftly through the snow, knocking Orc soldiers to the ground one after another.

Their weapons and equipment were more than a level above those of the Orc soldiers. The well-supplied Dwarf troops also vastly outnumbered the Orc defenders at the front.

There had been no suspense. The Dwarves' assault was like an iron hammer smashing down on an anvil, driving the Orcs from their most important forward defensive base—Iceblood Garrison—without any flourish.

With the fall of Iceblood Garrison, the surrounding watchtowers were uprooted one by one by the Dwarves like trees stripped of their roots. The Frostwolf Forces retreated all the way to Coldtooth Mine before gathering their routed troops and establishing a new defensive line. Their situation was now perilous.

The military map showed it plainly: the blue faction had occupied roughly two-thirds of the territory, while the red representing