The elven troops, piercing the orc army like sharp blades, caught the attention of the orc overlord.
As the leader of the first wave of landing troops, he knew how much impact this magic-wielding mage would have on his soldiers.
With a roar, the orc overlord bared his sharp fangs. He leaped, directly over the heads of several soldiers. A long leap propelled this robust orc straight at Leylin.
A heavy slash met him head-on; the orc overlord was incredibly fast.
Having experienced many battles against trolls, Leylin had a good way of dealing with such a sudden attack. He first took a step back, then flashed behind the orc overlord.
With the blessing of the High Elf Golden Staff, a burst of arcane energy rapidly gathered around Leylin's body.
The ground trembled beneath the force of the explosion, a deafening "Boom!" echoing across the battlefield. Leylin's carefully cast spell had targeted the orc overlord from a distance, unleashing a surge of raw arcane energy aimed precisely at his back. For a moment, it seemed as if victory was within reach—an explosion of light and power that could turn the tide.
But the orc warlord, clad in dark green, rune-etched armor, merely staggered forward, unscathed by Leylin's assault. The armor absorbed the brunt of the arcane blast, shimmering with a faint, ominous glow. The orc's thick muscles rippled as he roared in rage, his eyes blazing with fury and determination.
Leylin's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and concern. His magic had been powerful, yet the orc's armor proved resilient almost enchanted to resist such attacks.
The orc turned around slowly, a deep growl resonating from his throat. He lifted a massive axe, the blades gleaming wickedly under the sun, ready to retaliate.
The orc warlord roared anew, a guttural sound that echoed across the battlefield as he spun around with ferocious speed. His massive, muscular legs powered him forward, propelling him with terrifying momentum.
With a brutal swing, he cleaved the heavy, jagged prisoner of war—Leylin's own projectile—once more. The force of the blow sent shrapnel flying, sparks igniting as the metal shattered against the orc's thick armor.
Leylin's eyes widened in immediate response. Recognizing the danger, he swiftly channeled his magic, raising his left hand.
Bright flames erupted from his palm as he cast [Blazing Barrier], a shimmering shield of fire and protective energy that crackled fiercely, forming a barrier to block the orc's next attack.
Simultaneously, he summoned earth spikes from the ground, jagged and menacing, aiming them at the charging orc to slow and hinder his advance.
He knew this might not be enough to kill the orc outright, but it was crucial to buy time. The orc's relentless rage fueled his resilience; each hit seemed to fuel his fury further, making him more dangerous.
Leylin understood that if he could just stall him long enough, his next move could turn the tide.
With a deep breath, Leylin prepared for a decisive strike. His left hand burst into searing fire, a blazing orb of energy forming rapidly—[Pyroblast], a devastating explosion waiting to happen. In his right hand, he conjured over thirty arcane orbs, each larger than a typical mage's, swirling with potent arcane power—ready for [Arcane Barrage].
He aimed both multi-layered spells at the orc warlord, his mind calculating the perfect moment to unleash them in a devastating combo. Leylin's eyes burned with intensity, knowing that this attack could potentially wipe out the orc in one fell swoop.
The battlefield held its breath as Leylin prepared to strike, risking everything with a single, powerful assault. "Armor breached, target dead!"
The orc warlord's death severely impacted the morale of the first wave of orcs landing. Unable to break through, they began a slow retreat to the shore.
Khadgar didn't want these orcs to retreat so easily. He chanted a super-magical technique learned from Karazhan, unleashing a super-natural spell.
The clouds in the sky began to gather and swirl, and icy frost began to accumulate with the help of Khadgar's hands. Although he was only twenty years old, the curse of aging had given him an aged appearance, but it had also greatly enhanced his magical knowledge and magical energy.
The temperature in the sky connecting to the coast began to drop; those familiar with the skies of Azeroth knew that a blizzard was imminent. Although spring had arrived in Hillsbrad Foothills,
Lothar's booming voice urged his steady steps toward the shore. "The mages are restricting the orcs' movements! Pursue them! Leave their blood on the hills!"
Voices rose from the orc army, a shout in a language from another world: "Wait for the second wave of landings, we retreat!"
Anger burned within the orc soldiers; they grunted and turned to retreat toward the shore.
"Don't pursue! Check the equipment, then bring the wounded back to the lines. The next wave of orc ships is approaching." Alleria said to the soldiers, sheathing her bow, Thas'dorah.
Leylin dispelled the flames floating before him, observing the battlefield. The recent surge of magical energy he used have now been recovered.
To be honest, he hadn't used much of his power but it already was enough to wipe some of the orcs during the skirmish.
"As planned, our mission is complete. We don't need to continue the second orc attack. Now we retreat to Tarren Mill." Alleria said, walking to Leylin's side.
Having failed to retreat in time, Leylin cast [Far Sight] surveying the soldiers atop the Horde's second fleet. On the deck, he spotted a group of strange knights riding heavily armored warhorses, wearing black hoods and black cloaks.
"Wait a little longer, Alleria, I've discovered a group of creatures unlike any other." Leylin said. Based on what he saw, these must be the death knights. He wanted to know whether his magic could deal damage to these knights, or must he learn holy magic to counter these creatures.
"Atar has disgraced the Horde! He actually retreated beneath the humans' fragile defenses!" Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer, wielding a black Doomhammer and clad in perfectly pressed armor, stood on the deck, speaking angrily.
A shaman followed behind the Orc Warchief; his name was Kress, an Amani Troll from Zul'Aman.
"Lothar, who fled north, has united armies among the human nations of the northern continent. The army at the front should be the Alliance's elite. Atal's defeat was inevitable. Warchief, you don't need to be too angry." Kress explained.
The heavy Doomhammer slammed against the steel bow of the ship. He said, "Let these monsters created by Gul'dan, and the surrounding ships, converge on the hills ahead. I will lead the charge. This time, I will personally cut off that bald warrior's head!"
Kress nodded. He walked to the vicinity of the warhorse riders and said to a warlock sent by Gul'dan, "Get them moving. The Warchief needs them."
The hooded warlock took out a magic circle surrounded by dark magic from his robes. Shadow power swirled around them as the warlock awakened the knights.
Orgrim wasn't interested in these guys; he was quite disgusted with Gul'dan's creations. However, at least they could serve the Horde, which was why Orgrim hadn't wiped out the Shadow Council entirely. Gul'dan was still useful.