An Unexpected Turn
"What?" Lothar was discussing with Turalyon how to attack Blackrock Mountain more effectively when Orgrim unexpectedly launched the attack. He quickly leaped onto his warhorse and kicked it past his troops, with Turalyon and the others following closely behind.
Sure enough, as he approached the front lines, he clearly heard the sounds of battle. Looking over, he saw Ogre; they were enormous, with thick arms and strong thighs. They wore heavy helmets but no armor, only belts, shoulder guards, and fur boots. Their weapons swung wildly, slaughtering everything in their path. Their green skin was covered in tattoos. They were barbarians, and humanity was being pushed back relentlessly by their frenzied attacks.
"Uther," Lothar called out. The Paladin strode up to him, lowered his Lothar slightly, and pointed it at the Orcs. That was enough to make his point clear. The Paladin nodded, signaling the rest of the Silver Hand to follow him, and then raised his gleaming warhammer.
"In the name of the Holy Light!" Uther cried, a golden light swirling around him and his weapons. "We will not tolerate this atrocity!" He then plunged into the battlefield and smashed the skull of the nearest Ogre with his hammer.
The sky above Blackrock Mountain was always thick with clouds and dust, casting a blood-red shadow over everything below. But now the clouds parted, letting in dazzling sunlight. As Uther charged into the Horde's army, the Paladin seemed to transform into a pure, the Holy Light, each of his strikes pressing down on the Horde's vanguard from all directions.
The border between Burning Steppes and Dun Morogh
"Look!" Nathanos pointed ahead, where the sunlight was so bright it seemed to have pierced a hole in the sky.
"I see them. They're fighting. The Orcs have launched an attack." Kurdran circled in the sky, scouting ahead.
Nathanos turned his gaze to Muradin, Dwarf nodded and shouted, "Hurry up, lads! We'll make the Horde pay for invading Kaz'Modan!"
The Dwarf army following behind him quickened their pace, preparing to attack from the rear of the Horde.
On the battlefield
Other Paladin joined Uther's ranks, their the Holy Light also emanating from them. In the year since the war began, the Silver Hand had expanded considerably; excluding Turalyon, Uther now commanded over fifty Paladin. These men charged into the battlefield, their warhammers, battleaxes, and swords radiating their conviction. The rest of the Alliance soldiers retreated to give them space to fight.
The Ogre turned to face their new enemy. It was a brutal battle, savagery against holiness, gleaming plate armor against wild tattoos and piercings. The Ogre were strong, brutal, and insane, oblivious to their own pain, but the Paladin were filled with righteous rage and the power of their faith. Their the Holy Light had already caused many Orcs to turn and flee in defeat. Using this advantage, the Paladin surrounded their enemies, annihilating them one by one until the last fell beneath their feet.
"Well done!" Lothar exclaimed. Just then, a sentry ran over. What was going on? He was somewhat surprised. Another attack?
"Another attack!" the soldier gasped, echoing Lothar's earlier thought. "From the west!"
"Damn it!" Lothar cursed, riding towards the orcs. These Orcs were really clever; he hadn't anticipated this attack, and his men weren't prepared either. Most of them were lax, still hoping for a long siege. Some weren't even wearing armor. Although he had ordered them to be vigilant in case of emergency, they were now paying the price for their negligence. If the Orcs' raid weakened the points connecting their encirclement, the Horde could break out and enter the outer mountains. This would mean he would spend months, or even years, chasing them down, while also giving the Horde enough time to recuperate and rise again.
He cannot allow this to happen.
He quickly charged into the new battlefield, trampling an Orcs beneath his hooves as he couldn't dodge in time. He then reined in his horse, surveying his surroundings. This attack was far more ferocious than the last; the Horde had mobilized a full third of their forces, perhaps even more. Even more terrifying were the six two-headed Ogre among them. They attacked with equal ferocity, but unlike the previous wave of attackers, they weren't mindless; they displayed some tactical awareness. Especially the large Orcs among them, whose long tassels swung with each swing of his massive black warhammer, shattering Alliance soldiers with every blow. This strongman moved swiftly and cautiously, even clad in enormous black plate armor. This gave Lothar a jolt; he realized—this was his long-time nemesis. He spurred his horse into the fray, and the Orcs noticed him too. His eyes weren't red, but gray, brimming with intelligence. They widened slightly, as if he too had recognized Lothar.
Doomhammer gazed at the Warrior on horseback ahead and smiled knowingly. This man, wielding a shield and Greatsword, with deep, azure eyes, was the leader of the Alliance and the very person Doomhammer had been searching for. If he could defeat him, the Alliance would crumble.
"Get out of my way!" Doomhammer roared, knocking down a human soldier blocking his path and kicking aside an Orcs Warrior. Lothar was also sweeping away the surrounding obstacles with his sword, watching Doomhammer approach. Finally, the human leader's eyes locked onto the Orcs chieftain.
Battle raged around him, but their eyes were fixed on the enemy before them; finally, no Warrior were left to face each other at close range.
Lothar's position on horseback was an advantage, Doomhammer quickly resolved that. He swung his hammer in an arc, the massive head striking the horse's head with full force. The warhorse fell, blood flowing from its shattered skull, its limbs twitching. But Lothar did not fall. Instead, as the horse collapsed, he leaped to his feet and landed beside it, rolling gracefully to the ground. He then stepped over the horse to face Doomhammer directly. The surrounding battle seemed to have subsided. The two leaders simultaneously drew their weapons, clashing silently in an instant. They had only one goal—to kill their opponent.
It was a tough battle. Lothar was a tall, imposing man, almost like an Orcs Warrior, but Doomhammer was more robust, stronger, and younger. Although Lothar was slightly inferior in age and speed, his experience and skill made up for it all.
Both men were clad in heavy plate armor, the battle-hardened Stormbreaker armor facing off against the Horde's black plate armor. Both wielded weapons that ordinary Warrior could not wield: Quel'Zar'Am, engraved with golden runes, and Orgrim, Doomhammer passed down from Orgrim. Both were determined to win, no matter the cost.
Lothar launched the first attack, his Greatsword slashing from the side, piercing Doomhammer's defenses from a blind spot and tearing a gash in the Orcs's heavy plate armor. Had Doomhammer not reacted quickly and stepped back, Quel'Zaram would have already pierced his body. The Great Chief immediately retaliated, slamming his warhammer down, but Lothar leaped back, dodging the attack. Doomhammer then flipped its handle, swinging the weapon in reverse, the warhammer whizzing past Lothar's chin, causing him to lose his balance and stagger backward. Immediately following was an even faster blow, but Lothar raised his sword in time to block the handle. For a moment, both Warrior exerted their full strength. Doomhammer swung down again, but Lothar once more caught it, the two weapons trembling as they locked in a stalemate.
Then, Lothar twisted his sword, successfully deflecting the warhammer. Taking advantage of Doomhammer's retreat, he leaped forward and slammed it down heavily on the Orcs chieftain's left shoulder, stunning Orgrim. Orgrim then swung its Doomhammer, striking Lothar in the chest, knocking him back and allowing Lothar to retract his weapon and regain his composure.
Turalyon was locked in combat with Orcs before him when, with a single blow of his hammer, his enemy fell. He suddenly realized that Lothar and a large Orcs were in the middle of the battlefield. "No!" Turalyon cried, watching his leader face a very strong Orcs clad in black plate armor. He launched an attack, each hammer blow felling the surrounding Orcs as he fought his way through to the two leaders.
Neither of the two combatants noticed Turalyon's movements. They closed in again, wielding their warhammers and Greatsword. Lothar blocked Doomhammer's full-force blow with his shield, the pressure almost forcing him to his knees, but his sword also sliced a deep gash in the Orcs's breastplate. Doomhammer staggered backward, blood trickling from his lips, his face contorted in pain. He then ripped off his damaged armor, while Lothar tossed his dented shield aside. Immediately afterward, both men shouted and clashed once more.
Without his armor, Doomhammer moved even faster, while Lothar, wielding his sword in both hands, could break through the Orcs' defenses from any angle. Both were struck heavily at the same time; Doomhammer suffered a deep gash in his abdomen, while Lothar paid the price with a heavy blow. Both staggered as they prepared to launch a third attack. Around them, other Orcs and humans were engaged in their own brutal battles. These two powerful leaders attacked again and again, each time searching for weaknesses in the other's defenses. Each clash was evenly matched before starting anew.
The two closed in again, Doomhammer slammed into Lothar's chest, denting Lothar breastplate and knocking him off balance. Before Lothar could regain his footing, Doomhammer took a small step back, raised his warhammer with both hands, and brought it down with all his might. Lothar instinctively raised his Greatsword to block the attack, concentrating all his strength on the blade. Then, in the next second, something happened that completely surprised both of them.
Quel'Zaram broke!