Inside Abar's large tent, the air was so thick it was suffocating.
Longfellow was dragged in by two orc warriors, his armor tattered and his face covered in dust from his escape.
He was about to explain when Abar kicked him in the back of the knee, causing him to fall heavily to his knees.
"Useless!" Abar's roar sent sparks flying from the braziers inside the tent. "I gave you five thousand men, and you couldn't even hold out for two hours?"
Longfellow's lips trembled: " Great Chieftain, the enemy's weapons are too powerful. Glaeman has sent cavalry, and they are equipped with Fire Crossbows!"
"Shut up!" Abar's eyes flashed with ferocity. "Aroye! Treat this noble knight the way we do on the Great Prairie!"
The orc general Aro grinned and drew his whip, giving it a sharp crack as it rang out in the air.
"No!" Longfellow exclaimed, his eyes wide.
Arroyo ignored his pleas and lashed out with his whip, tearing open the knight's shirt and leaving three bloody welts on his back.
"Ah!" Longfellow's scream was stuck in his throat. His pride made him clench his teeth tightly, but the excruciating pain still caused tears to flow uncontrollably.
Each lash felt like it was slowly tearing his pride away from his body. As a knight of the human world, he had never been treated like this before.
When the thirty lashes were finished, Longfellow lay paralyzed in a pool of blood. Abar grabbed his hair and forced him to look up so that Abar could see the face contorted with humiliation.
"Remember this lesson," Abar leaned down, his fangs almost touching Longfellow's nose, "If you dare to desert again, I'll pin you to a battering ram as a human shield!"
The orc soldiers outside the tent burst into laughter. Longfellow's last thought before he fainted was—the price of being a traitor was more unbearable than death.
On the walls of Stone Bridge Town, the orc army that had been desperately attacking just moments before suddenly withdrew completely.
Just as the defenders were wondering what was going on, a sentry on a lookout post suddenly shouted excitedly, "Hot air balloon! A hot air balloon from the Northwest Legion!"
Major Hodgson grabbed the binoculars, and the tube clearly showed the black dot in the distant sky. It was indeed a hot air balloon used by the Northwest Legion for reconnaissance. No other power in this era would possess such a creation.
It was drifting slowly in with the Northwest wind, and the flag hanging below the balloon was clearly visible; it was the Gleiman Family flag.
"Send orders to all towers!" Hodgson's voice trembled slightly with excitement. " Marquis has arrived with the main force to reinforce us!"
Through tunnels and signal flags, the news spread like wildfire throughout the town. Soldiers, finally able to rest, jumped up and cheered, some even throwing their helmets into the air. A gunner, his face covered in soot, knelt beside his gun emplacement, trembling as he drew a holy symbol on his chest.
"Go back and stay at your posts!"
Hodgson suddenly shouted at a Militia who had come into his field of vision, as she ran out of a tower.
Upon hearing the major's shout, Militia immediately ran back.
Hodgson ordered a messenger: "Notify all outposts that the orcs haven't gone far. Stay at your posts and don't move!"
The officers and soldiers around him fell silent, but they couldn't hide the joy in their eyes.
The new recruits quietly wiped away the tears from the corners of their eyes, while the veterans polished their gun barrels until they shone even brighter. Everyone knew that the most difficult time was over.
Abar rode his jet-black warhorse, slowly surveying the regrouped orc army.
The armor reflected a cold light, and the battle flags fluttered in the wind. Although they had suffered setbacks in the street fighting in Stone Bridge Town, his warriors now stood tall again on the open plains.
"Look, those humans finally dare to fight head-on!" an orc Centurion roared, brandishing his battle axe, and the surrounding warriors roared back in unison.
Abar watched this scene with satisfaction—this was the grassland warrior he knew, not a trapped beast tethered in a narrow alley.
" Great Chieftain!" another scout reported. " Glaeman's army has redeployed five miles away. Their strength appears to be around 40,000, with very few cavalry."
A hint of disdain flashed in Abar's eyes.
What can the cowards hiding behind the walls in Stone Bridge Town accomplish in the wilderness?
He raised his battle axe, the blade drawing a dazzling arc in the sunlight.
"Warriors!" His voice rolled across the plains like thunder. "Today we will show humanity who the rightful masters of this land are! Without the protection of these walls, they are nothing but lambs to the slaughter!"
The orc warriors pounded their weapons against their shields, creating a sound like a tsunami.
Aijile's cavalry had begun to deploy on the flanks, and the battle-hardened mounts snorted excitedly.
In the central formation, battle-hardened orc heavy infantrymen inspected their weapons, their eyes burning with fighting spirit.
Abar turned his horse around and looked toward the northern horizon, where Glaeman's army should be arrayed.
But the Great Chieftain felt no fear—on the vast plains, the orcish cavalry would crush all obstacles like a storm.
Today, he will personally behead that arrogant young man and wash away the shame of Stone Bridge Town with his blood.
"All troops, advance north!"
Abar had just shouted the command with great vigor when his hand, which was holding the battle axe high, suddenly froze in mid-air.
The battle cries of many orc warriors abruptly ceased, and they stared blankly upwards.
Under the azure sky, a giant hot air balloon was slowly drifting in, and below it, the Glyman Family flag was fluttering in the wind.
Even more horrifying, several figures could be clearly seen inside the balloon basket, looking down at the earth.
"The heavens...the realm of the gods..."
An old orc shaman fell to his knees with a thud, his bone staff falling to the dust.
The surrounding warriors involuntarily retreated, some even trembling—in their traditional beliefs, the sky was a sacred place belonging to the gods and their messengers, namely birds, and how could mortals touch it?
Abar's eyes were fixed on the floating behemoth, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
Even the bravest warriors felt a chill run down their spines at this moment. The humans on the balloons were waving at them, their posture like gods looking down on ants.
"witchcraft!"
Arroyo suddenly roared, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him, "This must be an evil spell cast by Glaeman!"
The shadow cast by the balloon slowly swept across the orc army formation, and wherever it went, the warriors lowered their heads, afraid of meeting its gaze.
Abar suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.
Even setting aside the concepts of gods and faith, he could think of a most realistic threat—since humans could ascend to the sky, wouldn't their army's formations be completely exposed to them?