Chương 121: 121：Rejecting Cannon Fodder: The Truth of Firepower Coverage

Just as Garrosh was confidently breaking down the battle situation for his subordinates... In the center of the high ground, atop a hastily constructed altar of broken stones, a shrill, piercing shriek of magical energy abruptly erupted.

"Commander! The connection is established!" The accompanying High Shaman violently snapped his eyes open—eyes entirely devoid of whites. Beads of blood began to seep from his withered skin, which was entirely covered in tribal tattoos. In the center of the altar sat a stone basin, filled with the blood of three heavily wounded Orc warriors who had been sacrificed for this exact purpose. Right now, that blood was boiling frantically, as if superheated. Bloop... Bloop...

Amidst the pungent stench of gore, the boiling blood miraculously rose into the air, coalescing into a terrifying, massive face. It was the spectral projection of Warchief Blackstone.

"Garrosh." Every single fiercely arrogant Bloodaxe elite instantly dropped to one knee on the hard rock. Garrosh went a step further, pressing his forehead directly against the stone in absolute reverence.

"Great Warchief! The Bloodaxes await your guidance!" The face of blood slightly opened its maw, delivering a cruel, uncompromising directive:"I have already mobilized three main battalions from the surrounding sectors. Thousands of elite Orc warriors are marching at maximum speed."

"They will form an impossibly massive net, executing a full counter-encirclement against the human main forces besieging you!"

"Your current mission is absolute: Nail yourselves to Eagle Beak Ridge!"

"I do not care what kind of elite human forces attempt an uphill assault. Whether it's heavy infantry or their Royal Knights. Even if all five hundred of your Bloodaxes fight to the absolute last man, you will drag them down and bleed them at the base of that mountain until my main forces close the trap!" Garrosh violently raised his head. His face was entirely flushed with a bloodthirsty glow, a twisted mixture of absolute fanaticism and martial glory.

"By your command! Supreme Warchief! The Bloodaxe Battalion shall forge a Throne of Flesh from human skulls atop this very ridge!" Splash! The face lost its form, the blood scattering across the altar as the connection was severed. The stones returned to silence. Garrosh abruptly stood up. He yanked his massive double-bladed battleaxe from the earth and roared at the five hundred elites behind him:"Warriors! The Great Warchief is watching us!"

"When the reinforcements arrive, I want every single green-skin in this world to know that it was the Bloodaxes who tore the throat out of the human defensive line!" The Orcs on the high ground threw their heads back and unleashed a heaven-shaking roar. The deafening sound of axes slamming against Blackiron chestplates echoed like thunderous war drums. Garrosh was completely lost in his own glorious delusion of defending the high ground to the death and establishing immortal military merit.

But what he absolutely could not have known was... At this exact moment, deep within the dense canopy at the base of the Lone Cliff high ground... The so-called "hundred skinny human infantrymen" he had so arrogantly dismissed were absolutely not cannon fodder. They were heavy infantry whose veins surged with [Basic Troll Serum], clad from head to toe in Blackiron plate, and armed with [Geared Heavy Repeating Crossbows] capable of punching clean through an Orc's armor.

Accompanying them were elite longbowmen equipped with [Imperial Military Longbows], capable of threading a needle from a hundred paces! Directly below Eagle Beak Ridge. The dense fog had been slightly dispersed by the wind whipping off the high ground. Within the dead-silent forest on the edge of the basin, not even the chirp of a bird could be heard. Soren stood with one foot resting on a withered log. The [Windwhisper Bow] in his hand pulsed with a continuous, cyan glow of wind-attribute runes.

Not a single soldier whispered. Even with over a hundred men maneuvering through the woods, the only sounds were the incredibly faint friction of iron armor and the perfectly uniform rhythm of their breathing. This level of absolute discipline and obedience was something the supposedly 'noble' knights of the Silvermoon Kingdom and the Holy Halycon Empire had never witnessed in their lives. At this moment, Archery Captain Ein stepped forward to offer his tactical input.

He proposed his plan with deep respect:"My Lord, the Orcs have sealed themselves off, relying entirely on the terrain to mount a rigid defense."

"I request permission to lead a twelve-man vanguard squad. We will launch a probing assault directly up the frontal goat-path!"

"We need to map out the trigger points for their rolling logs and gauge the density of their defensive kill-zone. Even if... even if half my squad dies, we will carve out a blood-path for the main force." Sacrificing a small number of men to plug holes in intelligence was standard tactical doctrine in this world. Every commander from every nation would have adopted this exact probing strategy. If it had been anyone else, they likely would have approved it on the spot. But the man standing here was Soren.

Soren slightly turned his head. His piercing gaze swept across Ein's face, instantly crushing the proposal. Stolen story; please report.

"Put away your archaic, utterly cliché tactics, Ein." Soren pointed a finger straight up at the towering, seemingly insurmountable cliffs of Eagle Beak Ridge.

"Sending my men to the base of that cliff to act as live targets, just to trade their lives for meaningless intelligence? That is the hallmark of an incompetent commander."

"Every single drop of blood my men shed must be paid back with exponentially greater results."

"I do not accept any attrition from 'probing assaults'."

"Because those barbarians squatting on that rock have absolutely no concept of the overwhelming, crushing range they are about to face."

"Under my ballistic coverage, there is no such thing as a probe. There is only comprehensive, carpet-bombing slaughter." And so, Soren waited casually for all his trump cards to fall perfectly into place. Rustle! A faint sound of displaced air drifted from the thicket. Immediately following, a figure whose camouflage had perfectly blended with the environment materialized from the shadows. It was Spymaster Meyer.

The continuous, ultra-high-intensity scouting had pushed his physical stamina to its absolute limit, yet his eyes burned with fierce, adrenaline-fueled excitement.

"My Lord! We swept the open ground ahead!" Meyer rapidly delivered his report:"The leadership at Lone Cliff aren't complete fools. They strictly executed your warning."

"The civilian population, the autumn harvest, and those priceless magical herbs—they've all been evacuated through the hidden western tunnels into the subterranean safehouses!"

"The Bloodaxe Battalion only smashed some useless bricks and broken tiles in the residential zone. They didn't loot a single damn thing!"

"Excellent," Soren nodded slightly. Since Lone Cliff was entirely evacuated, it meant the upcoming battlefield could be turned into an absolute, uninhibited slaughterhouse. All lingering concerns about civilian collateral damage were completely erased. Just as Meyer finished his report... From the sheer climbing point on the cliffs behind them, a few fingernail-sized pebbles silently tumbled down. Then, a specialized grappling hook secured itself firmly around a thick branch in the canopy.

Accompanied by the faint rustle of clothing, a figure dropped to the ground with the terrifying agility of an ape. It was Gary. The Scout Captain who possessed the [Guerrilla Mastery] talent. Right now, blood was actively seeping from beneath Gary's fingernails. Yet his face was plastered with absolute, maniacal excitement.

"Lord! Found it! I found the weakness of those green-skinned bastards!" Gary didn't even bother bandaging his bleeding fingers. He simply grabbed a handful of leaves, crushed them, and rubbed them over the wounds to stem the bleeding. Then, using the hilt of his sword, he rapidly sketched a rough topographical map of Eagle Beak Ridge in the mud.

"The frontal goat-path is a visual trap. The Orcs have piled every single ounce of their defensive power—their shield walls, their rolling logs, everything—right there." Gary brutally stabbed his sword hilt into the back of his sketch, representing the rear face of the cliffs.

"But I climbed over three hundred meters straight up the outer edge of the cliff face."

"The rear of the high ground is an inverted, negative-angle cliff. It's completely overgrown with razor-sharp, inverted cliff-vines." Gary gritted his teeth, his voice filled with absolute certainty:"An Orc's brain is a straight line. In their minds, a smooth, negative-angle rock face covered in thorny vines is utterly unscalable by any infantry unless they're a winged gargoyle!"

"So..." Gary looked up, his eyes wide:"The entire upper perimeter of the rear cliff face doesn't even have a single Orc sentry!" Hearing this critical intelligence, Victor—the Silver-tier Mage standing nearby—and Ein both sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. An insertion point that completely bypassed the defensive layers and struck directly into the enemy's blind spot... the strategic value was immeasurable!

"Flawless intelligence." Soren drew the refined steel longsword from his waist, pointing it straight at the cloud-wreathed high ground.

"Finalize the combined-arms operational plan immediately!"

"Ein!"

"Sir!" The master archer carrying the [Imperial Military Longbow] stepped forward sharply.

"Take your fifty longbowmen. Deploy into a dispersed, fan-shaped skirmisher line right here, using the tree line for cover!"

"Victor will provide magical support. The moment the battle begins, I want you using armor-piercing bodkins, combined with Victor's instant-cast Burst Fireballs, to carpet-bomb that frontal goat-path! I want an impenetrable wall of suppressive fire!" Soren's demands were absolute:"I am not asking you to launch a frontal assault. But I demand your fire density be so overwhelming that those Orc bastards on the ridge don't even dare to poke half a head out from cover."

"Make them believe that the absolute main force of the human coalition is launching a suicidal frontal assault! Pin every single one of their eyes directly onto that frontal choke point!"

"As long as the Lord's banner stands, my bowstrings shall never rest! By your command!" Ein delivered a flawless, fist-to-chest military salute.